Little Talks
by thatmasquedgirl
Summary: A collection of one-shots in season 2, based on one-sentence dialogue prompts from tumblr. Not necessarily canon, but not really AU, either. Varying episode tags and characters, but will mostly contain Oliver and Felicity. Oliver/Felicity pairing, with a definite slow burn. Includes one-shots formerly posted as stand-alones, such as Need, Choices, and Illegal. Complete.
1. Mercy

_**Little Talks  
**_**Disclaimer: If I owned the rights to Arrow, I would be writing screenplays instead of fanfiction. And, honestly, most of this would be canon.**

**Title: Mercy**  
**Prompt: #7 - "We make a good team."**  
**Summary: When the fight isn't fair, the odds need to be changed.  
Characters: Sin, Sara Lance**  
**Episode Tag: Between seasons one and two**  
**Word Count: 883**

**Notes:** Okay, now for the re-post! :) **I know this chapter doesn't feature Oliver or Felicity, but stick around; the next four or so do (in addition to the better part of this collection).** This was posted as Mercy before, but I've added about two hundred words to it since then, reworded some things, hopefully made it a little better. This series is based off of a series of dialogue prompts from a tumblr page, and it's been a fun ride. There are twenty-five in total, and you're going to get them all for the next twenty-five days. Some of them have been posted before but some of them are new. :)

I am aware of how trope-tastic this particular piece is, but I always think of this plotline for this prompt. Still, I haven't seen any of these online, so I think it will at least be a breath of fresh air on the site. There are so many rich characters on the show, and not all of them get the fic time (or even screen time) they deserve. So I decided to play with yet another set of pretties. So, now I'll let you do your thing. Thanks for reading, and please review if you'd like. :)

* * *

Sin _knows_ she shouldn't be walking through this part of the Glades at night. She's not an idiot, after all. But, it's the shortest path home from her graveyard shift. The Glades have been pretty violent, though, since the Vigilante got killed in that whole Undertaking thing, so she probably shouldn't cut through the abandoned buildings, but most people think she's a psycho bitch with a pocket knife, and they leave her the hell alone.

And, hey, that works for her.

But then, the drunken dumbasses at the dive bar across the street start hooting and hollering, making cat calls and the like. She gives them her best glare, but they don't back off. They start to follow her, and she reaches in and fingers the switchblade in her front jeans pocket, just in case.

It doesn't go well, though. One of the more sober guys cuts her off, and the five guys behind her don't make the situation look too good. Still, she plays it cool as she takes the knife out of her pocket and releases the six-inch blade. "Move it, buddy," she says to the guy in front of her, hoping to deter him.

As luck would have it, he happens to be a little too drunk to manage common sense. "I like a girl with some fight in her," he says, dripping with false confidence and unfounded swagger.

She swings the switchblade at him in response, a red, bloody line forming across his hand. "I _said_, 'move it,'" she tries again, the panic starting to show through in her voice. She's not going to be able to fight them all off, and she knows it. But, maybe if the guy sees his own blood, he'll learn what it is to back the hell away.

"You bitch!" he swears at her, cradling his now injured hand. The rest of the men use the distraction to their advantage and circle her, and she knows what's going to happen next. Even knowing that, the fight doesn't drain out of her; if anything, it intensifies. She tightens the grip on her switchblade, preparing for the fight that's coming.

Just before it all goes to hell, though, a woman drops from the nearby rooftop, armed with some sort of stick... thing. She's dressed all in black, blonde hair flowing across her shoulders. Her facial features are concealed behind a black mask, but even that can't quite hide the intensity of her eyes. Her stance shows she's ready for a fight, so Sin falls into place beside her. Not many people would fall into a fight, so she's too grateful to turn tail and run, even as her instincts scream for her to do so.

The man with the bleeding hand lunges toward the blonde, but she clocks his temple with the staff, causing him to crumple instantly. The other five men are in it for pride now, and so they make their move toward what they believe to be the biggest threat: Blondie. "Run," she says quietly to Sin.

Like hell she's going to run. She swings the switchblade at the man who gets too close to her, but then she sees the other four guys go for the Blondie together. She fights the three in front of her pretty well, but the fourth tries to sneak up behind her. Sin knows she has to do _something_, but she's too far away to help, so she takes a gamble and throws the knife.

Somehow, the blade strikes home in the man's side, and his yell alerts Blondie to his presence. It's not a fight after that; she simply dispatches them all, not daring to show any mercy. When she finishes, all six men are most certainly dead

Blondie reaches over and pulls Sin's knife out of the guy, watching the girl closely all the while. She wipes the blade on the guy's coat, then proffers it to Sin, handle up. "Thanks for that," she says in a quiet, breathy voice that's oddly soothing. "We make a good team."

Sin shrugs, though she thinks Blondie might be right. "I'm Sin," she says.

The other girl seems hesitant to trust her with such valuable information, but finally offers, so quietly Sin almost misses it, "Sara."

She's not stupid and she gets it: Sara doesn't want her name bandied about. So, instead of commenting, Sin says instead, "You need a place to crash?" Because, well, call her crazy, but she doesn't think the woman in front of her is a local.

A small smile accompanies the words, "I just got into town."

Sin shrugs. "I call home an abandoned clock tower now. I wouldn't mind a little company, if you're not annoying." Sara actually laughs at that, and Sin starts walking so she can't see the hidden smile on her face.

Sara keeps pace easily, not hesitating to walk in long strides in _those_ shoes. All is quiet for a long while, but, after a few blocks of silence, Sara finally says to her new friend, "We really need to work on your knife throwing skills." Sin supposes that's as close as she's going to get to a display of gratitude.

Just like that, though, she knows it's going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.


	2. Illegal

_**Little Talks**_

**Title: Illegal**  
**Prompt: #18 - "How did that happen?"**  
**Summary: Nothing is as horrible as it appears.**  
**Characters: Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak**  
** Episode Tag: pre-2.08**  
** Word Count: 672**

**Notes: **Okay, now for an updated version of Illegal, for your viewing pleasure. :) Same rules apply: thanks for reading, and leave a review if you feel so moved. ;P

* * *

Oliver notices it as soon as he walks into the Arrow's base of operations, and he doesn't like it one bit. Watching Felicity limp around to her computer desk is a special challenge for him, but it soon turns to confusion as he notices that she's barefoot. Her shoes lay discarded under the desk, tossed smartly to one side, as if in disgust. Instead of her dress from the office, she's in a tank top and a pair of sweatpants that look suspiciously like his, the cuffs rolled over multiple times. He tries to ignore the feeling that rises from seeing her in _his_ clothes—something primal that he'd rather not admit to feeling around Felicity. It fades, though, as soon as he notices the purple color starting to appear around one of her ankles.

When she's involved, he has a tendency to overreact, so he first takes a moment to gather his thoughts and remind himself that it's nothing serious. When he's able to, he finally asks her, "How did _that_ happen?" Despite his worry, the question comes out as light and teasing—possibly something that some would call flirting. Not him, of course, because he wouldn't dare flirt with someone so out-of-his-league as Felicity Smoak.

Apparently, it's the wrong question to ask, as she looses a glare at him so intense he expects her computers to spontaneously combust around her. She huffs loudly in irritation before launching into her explanation with wild hand gestures and too fast speech. "If I figured _that_ out, I'd be as rich as you now. I was walking to my car in _these_"—she picks up the offending heels by the straps, glaring at them disdainfully—"and the heel decides to snap. And, of _course_, I end up in the _one_ puddle on the top floor of the parking garage, so I'm suddenly dripping wet. Like, wild-sorority-girl-at-a-wet-t-shirt-contest wet." The unexpected inappropriateness of her reference causes him to raise his eyebrows at her in surprise.

Color blossoms across her cheeks instantly. "That didn't come out right," she follows up awkwardly, running a palm across her forehead. "Just like everything in this day." She sighs deeply. "Anyway, I drove here and changed into the only clothes I could find down here—which reminds me: I need to start keeping a change of clothes for emergencies." She shakes her head to clear it before going back to the previous point. "And, by the time I'm dressed again, I find out that my ankle is doing its best impersonation of a plum." She holds her foot up in the air, toes pointed, so that he can see. "A day this bad should be illegal," she grumbles under her breath, before leaning wearily against the desk.

It's then that Oliver knows what to do. Without a word, he pulls a cold pack out of a medical supply drawer and grabs the old, rusted mechanic's stool on wheels that somehow survived Felicity's renovations. He rolls the stool over just in front of her chair, then activates the cold pack and lays it across the top.

Felicity is instantly alerted by his close proximity. "Oliver, wha—?" she starts, but she breaks off in a gasp as he gently takes her injured ankle in his hands, raising it onto the cold pack, his eyes on hers all the while. He breaks eye contact just long enough to wrap the pack around the angry, purple bruise, and then his eyes are on hers again as he rises.

Her mouth moves, her jaw works, but—miraculously—no sound escapes. All Oliver offers for an explanation is a wink and a half-smile before heading toward the bathroom for his training gear. No words are exchanged between them, but it's only because no words are necessary; they've known each other far too long for things as trivial as words.

And, as a special bonus, when his eyes meet hers for the rest of the night, he's rewarded with a smile so blinding it should be illegal.


	3. Need

_**Little Talks**_

**Title: Need**  
** Prompt: #12 - "You're joking, right?"**  
**Summary: A single, well-placed word can be enough to change someone's perspective.  
Characters: Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak**  
** Episode Tag: pre-2.11**  
** Word Count: 882**

**Notes:** Okay, this is the last re-post for a few days, I promise. I'm sorry, but I actually have a few to work through. You'll probably be seeing the other few one-shots I have go down in the next few days. I hope you don't mind; they'll be easier to follow in this collection, when you can see them all in the order they're meant to be read in.

This started out as a fic for the prompt "I'd rather die," but after I wrote "Fear," I exchanged a few words here and there, and now it's the fic you see posted before you. I actually like this one, though it's incredibly fluffy and mindless. I don't know, I just ... hmm. Anyway, thanks for reading! I'd love to see any reviews you could throw me, so let me know what you think!

* * *

"_Felicity_," Oliver demands harshly, in a tone belying his irritation with her, a rare thing in itself. He keeps trying to talk to her, even now that they're in the base (he refuses to call it a "lair" the way she does), even after she's refused a million times. It's one of those rare moments where he _needs_ her and she's not afraid to say no. Usually her tenacious personality is something he likes about her, but today he calls it stubbornness and it's irritating.

"You can say my name in that tone all you want," she retorts instantly, standing near her computers, her arms crossed over her torso in a way that seems like she's trying to protect herself from his tone. She stands straight as if she's prepared to confront him, but her hunched shoulders display the truth: she hates arguing with him, but that never seems to stop her. "No means no, and I've already said that in a plethora of ways."

Plethora. It's another word he'll have to look up later, like so many others since he's met her. The thought turns his mouth up at the corners, but when he sees her hackles raise slightly, he tones it down. It's an inappropriate time to be smiling, he reminds himself, and she probably thinks he's up to no good now. (He is, but it has nothing to do with the almost-smile on his face.)

Every tactic he's thought of thus far has failed, so he tries the one that his pride hates the most. "_Please_," he says this time, emphasizing the word so that she'll realize how difficult it is for him to say it. "Felicity, I need you."

Something flickers in her expression, like a mask slipping for just a fraction of a second, and he pretends he doesn't see the darkening of her eyes for both their sakes. It passes when she shakes her head vehemently, blonde ponytail flying around her shoulders. She points a finger at him while saying, "No! You will _not_ guilt me into this, Oliver! I told you, I'm not. Going. To do it."

He finally lets enough of his pride go to ask the question he's been avoiding all day: "Why not?"

"You're _joking_, right?" she asks incredulously, eyes wide as she gives him that Oliver-you-are-an-idiot look. "Do you _know_ what your family will think of me?" At his blank look, she answers, "The absolute _last_ thing I want is for your family to think that I'm just another executive assistant sleeping her way into her boss's good graces." Her expression changes abruptly. "Not that I think you'd be the kind who would sleep with your EA. Or that sex is the only way to get into your good graces."

Oliver has only to raise his eyebrows at the inappropriate ramble to make her stop instantly. "We don't have to say anything about you being my EA," he bargains. "They don't really know about that. And all I'm asking is for you to come to a family dinner with me. As a _friend_." He sighs deeply. "Thea will be there and she's bringing her..." He doesn't know how to end that sentence without using the word "boyfriend," and that is a word that _never_ enters the same sentence as Thea. He finishes lamely with, "_Roy_," practically spitting the name, using far too much force. "My mother is expecting me to bring a friend."

"Diggle's your friend," Felicity interjects quickly, but Oliver can already see she's starting to cave now. Something about him saying he needs her always seems to break down the barriers—he'll have to remember that for later.

"I don't think Digg is the kind of friend my mother was talking about," he says slowly. He watches her intently for a moment as she stares at him blankly, but he can see when the light finally dawns in her eyes.

"You need a _date_ to a family dinner," she clarifies slowly, mostly for herself.

Oliver answers the almost-question anyway. "No, I need a _friend_," he reiterates, knowing she'll never agree if the word "date" is included in the conversation. "I need someone who I'd feel comfortable introducing to my family." His expression darkens as he adds, "I'm more selective about who fills those requirements now."

He can see it the moment before it happens, displayed in the way her shoulders hunch and her arms fall to her sides. She sighs before she finally admits what they both know: "Fine. Pick me up at seven." She gives an indignant huff for the sake of the charade, even though they both know she doesn't mean it, before she adds, "In the limo. If I have to suffer through a billionaire dinner, I might as well enjoy the perks."

"Thank you, Felicity," he says with a genuine smile, and she returns it with a blinding one of her own. It even looks like her eyes are smiling.

Her only reply is to say, "I have absolutely no idea what to wear."

He turns to leave, the battle won, but he can't resist smiling as he calls over his shoulder, "The dress I had delivered to you apartment this morning."

The sound of a very high-pitched, flustered, "_Oliver!_" follows him out the door.


	4. Friend

_**Little Talks**_

**Title: Friend**  
** Prompt: #17 - "Don't leave."**  
**Summary: When in enemy territory, it's always best to bring a friend.**  
**Characters: Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen, Moira Queen, Thea Queen, Roy Harper**  
** Episode Tag: post-02.07**  
** Word Count: 1296**

**Notes:** This is a sort of apology for doing reposts for the last few days. :) So, here's this one a day early, in hopes that you might forgive me for all the revamping I've been doing. :) I thought that, just for MysteriousTwinkie, I'd try to write Felicity at her "frambling" best because we have possibly the weirdest conversations when we're both tired. :D Also, this is inspired by thephoenixsong, who begged for a one-shot following Need about the dinner. :) Here you go, both of you! I hope you enjoy it! Also, for the rest of you out there, thanks for reading, and please note that all reviews are answered and appreciated. ;)

* * *

Felicity swallows as she walks up to the Queen mansion. It's the first time she's ever been there, and it's more than a little intimidating. People shouldn't have houses like this—well, unless it's like Buckingham Palace and it's owned by royalty. Well, their last name is "Queen," but—

She shakes her head to stop the onslaught of thoughts, knowing it's going to be a bad day when she starts rambling in her head. It's just a sign of worse things to come.

She runs a hand down the front of the too-expensive dress Oliver bought her just for this dinner, and she cringes as she realizes how wild the multicolor heels are with the blue dress and the bright fuchsia lipstick. She decided to wear her hair long, but she should have at least put in her contacts instead of wearing glasses. She looks like an idiot, not like the kind of model that Oliver _Queen_ would bring over for a family dinner. She looks like a blonde, nerdy, computer geek, and while she usually likes that about herself, usually she's not invited to a family dinner at the Queen mansion.

She turns back to Oliver, who is guiding her toward the door with a hand at the small of her back. "I can't do this," she says abruptly. His eyebrows raise in surprise, the way they do when she says something inappropriate (and, sheesh, she hasn't even _started_ yet). "Look, I'm sorry. I don't think you usually notice things like this but _I_"—she motions to her torso—"am not the kind of girl that can do a refined family dining experience at the Queen mansion!" Her voice decides to rise in volume and pitch, and she's about two octaves higher than normal. She sounds like a Muppet, she thinks, but her mouth is far out of her control at this point. "I'm a computer nerd, okay? I'm a basement-dwelling gremlin, not a party girl!" She looks at her arms. "Seriously, I think you're starting to give me hives."

He smiles _that_ smile at her, the one that makes her feel like agreeing to anything. She equally loves and hates that smile. "'Basement-dwelling gremlin'?" he repeats blankly, and she blushes, not realizing the words she had selected during her ramble. Before she can defend herself, he shakes his head. He leans closer, giving her chills as he whispers, "Felicity, you were bait for a _serial killer_, and you're afraid to go to a family dinner?" She flushes, knowing how silly it is. He speaks louder this time as he assures her, "It's going to be fine."

Before she can speak, he guides her into the house, and she's staring at the elaborate entrance hall. "Holy cheese," she says, then winces at her choice of expression. "This place, it's just... _wow_."

Oliver makes a breathy sound, probably his equivalent of laughter. "Most people have that reaction to the house," he agrees.

She rounds on him. "The _house?_" she repeats, a little hysterical. "This isn't a _house_, Oliver. This is like a _super_ house—with a cape and a mask and a gaudy pair of tights." She realizes what she said, she opens her mouth, appalled, but she can't think of anything to say that would fix it.

He makes another breathy sound, raising an eyebrow in question. "You mean a mansion?" he suggests dryly.

She feels a sheepish at her description. "I don't know, maybe," she grudgingly admits. "But, whatever you want to call it, it's beautiful."

"It is," comes the agreement, but not from the direction she's expecting. Felicity turns on her heel to find herself face-to-face with Moira Queen, and she feels even more embarrassed than she was before. "I'm glad you like it—we've done much to make the house feel comfortable."

Oliver clears his throat. "Mother," he says, an underlying warning in his voice, "this is my friend Felicity." She's not sure she likes the warning, with his subtle indicator for his mother to behave properly. Even with a warning, she has no doubt that Moira Queen is not the kind of person to play nice, even when she's "playing nice."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Queen," she says as nicely as possible, even though she still feels like an idiot for her description.

Moira does not deign herself fit to speak to Felicity, but instead says to Oliver, "We were waiting for you," she says, as though she's trying to guilt him into something, before she disappears back into the dining hall.

Before she can comment or make a fool of herself, Oliver guides her into the dining hall behind Moira, his hand on her lower back incredibly distracting. When she enters, Moira is already seated at the head of the long table, with Thea and Roy on one side. There are two places set on the other side, which she's assuming are for her and Oliver. She's starting to feel a little flighty, like she wants to just turn and run, but she owes it to Oliver to stay.

He pulls her chair out for her as he offers a wink to Thea. "Thank you," she says quietly to him, flushing at the unwanted attention from her audience. Roy looks as uncomfortable as she feels, but Thea is looking at her with interest, as though she's something new and peculiar to study. Felicity doesn't like being the rat in the glass cage, so she sort of shies away from the attention, turning away.

"Thea, Roy," Oliver says, and Felicity notices how his jaw sort of tenses when he says Roy's name, "this is my friend, Felicity Smoak. Felicity, my sister Thea and her..." He trails off, knowing the word he needs, but reluctant to say it.

Felicity rolls her eyes. "Her boyfriend?" she supplies, the question in her voice just part of the act.

Oliver actually winces before flashing that fake smile at Roy. "Roy Harper," he finishes, and Felicity doesn't miss the growly quality that he's taken on, the on that not-so-subtly says, _I will arrow you in your sleep_. She stomps on his foot under the table, and the almost-Arrow expression is aimed at her for a moment before he gives her an almost-smile.

She turns away, smiling at the two. "Nice to meet you both," she says, trying to act like she's meant to be there. It isn't working, though, because Thea's eyes narrow in suspicion at her.

"Where'd you pick _this_ one up, Ollie?" Thea asks, making a face similar to Oliver's growly-Arrow face. Felicity flushes at the implications—and in anger—but bites her tongue for a change. This is Oliver's _sister_, and she just can't go around being rude to Thea Queen. She clenches her fists on her thighs, trying desperately not to say anything.

A hand falls over hers, forcing it to lay flat against her thigh. Oliver shoots her a half-glance, the corner of his mouth twisting up slightly. She must look like she's about to bolt, though, because he leans over and whispers in her ear, "Don't leave." She tries to ignore the close proximity, but it's difficult to ignore.

"Felicity," he says, the tense line of his jaw and sharp tone indicating his anger, "is a computer technician, actually." She likes that he doesn't bring up the fact that she works for Queen Consolidated, and that he doesn't belittle her by mentioning her sudden career change to executive assistant. "Right after I got back from the island"—his tone goes soft for the description—"I took my computer to Felicity, and she was able to repair it for me. That's how we met."

She smiles at him, grateful for the save and the support. Even as Felicity picks up the thread of conversation and the tension settles, his hand never leaves hers, always reminding her that she has a friend in the room. And, she must admit, she's doubly glad that friend is Oliver.


	5. Smile

**Title: Smile**  
** Prompt: #10 - "Are those wedding bells I detect?"**  
** Summary: There's always a smile that only one person can earn.**  
** Episode Tag: pre-02.13 (basically, before the whole Oliver/Sara thing in canon)**  
** Characters: Thea Queen, Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen**  
** Word Count: 932**

**Notes:** I've been wanting to write this one since I saw the prompts. :) I think it's one of my fluffier ones, honestly, but I'm never quite sure how those go. It is fun to write this interaction between the characters in this one, though; I've really decided that I love writing Thea. :) She's so much fun. I'm not really sure if she's canon or not, but I'm trying. Any reviews are both welcomed and appreciated. :)

**Just a little housekeeping note:** I have a new story out called _Talkative_, which features a one-shot (probably more, as time progresses) that takes place between Friend (the last chapter) and this one-shot. It should be up, if you'd like a little more Oliver, Felicity, and Thea interaction in your lives. :)

* * *

When Thea steps off the elevator on the top floor of the Queen Consolidated building, she notices it immediately. She's not snooping, really; she's only there because she's supposed to meet Oliver for lunch, and he forgot (_again_). It's all pretty innocent, honestly, though she _does_ like the opportunity to observe her recently-changed brother when he's not acting for the sake of the people around him.

And he is most certainly _not_ acting around Felicity Smoak. He's smiling for a change as he leans against the glass wall separating their offices, carrying on some conversation with his executive assistant. Felicity is doing most of the talking—not surprisingly; the girl can _talk_—and he's nodding and smiling that little half-smile reserved specifically for her.

He says something short and abrupt to her, and Felicity shakes her head, smile falling off her face as she clearly starts talking about something else. She seems a little more concerned than usual, and how Thea would love to be a fly on the wall for _that_ particular conversation. Abruptly, Oliver reaches over and touches her shoulder, saying something to her with a very intense expression. Felicity reluctantly smiles and nods before turning back to her computer screen. By the time Oliver is back in his office, it's as though the whole scene never happened.

It startles Thea to realize that Oliver actually let someone in for a change. And it surprises her that he _touched_ Felicity. Oliver _never_ touches people—or allows _them_ to touch _him_. She figures it's a thing from the island—he had to get those scars _somehow_, after all—but Thea didn't think he'd feel that comfortable around Felicity Smoak. It's something she completely understands, but it still makes her a little frustrated with her brother. Why can he let some random person in, but not his own sister?

Thea tries to mask her surprise, but it must not work as well as planned. Felicity fixes her with a questioning expression the minute she walks into the office, head tilted to the side and calculating expression in place. Thea knows the game is up, so she does what she does best: turns the tables. She puts a hand to her ear jokingly before saying, "Are those wedding bells I detect?" She grins, crossing her arms before adding, "Sounds like it to me."

As expected, Felicity flushes, turning a rather impressive shade of crimson. "Oh..." she breathes, sounding strangled. "Oh _no_. Oh _God_ no. No, we're not like that. It's just—" She pauses before starting again, speaking faster. "Not that Oliver isn't a good guy or anything. He is. Really. People don't give him enough credit, if you ask me. But it's just—I'm not that kind of girl to, you know, be the secretary in love with the boss or anything like that. I mean, that's probably the biggest cliché ever, and I'm trying to keep my life as cliché-free as possible, really." She winces. "Honestly, I don't think it's working for me, considering I work for Oliver _Queen_ during the day, and at night—"

She cuts off abruptly, stopping herself mid-ramble at about the same time Thea can no longer contain herself. She laughs at Felicity's plight, and Felicity colors even darker (if that's even _possible_). "You are _so_ easy to mess with, Felicity," she says, still laughing.

Oliver takes that moment to walk out of his office and into his executive assistant's, clearing his throat before saying, "If you're still interested in that lunch, Thea, we should go before you scare off my best EA." He takes her elbow to guide her out, but that doesn't stop her from missing the possessive tone in his voice.

Felicity stops him by replying, "I'm your _only_ EA." Her tone fakes annoyance, but Thea knows better. "And besides, I know she's joking. She's my friend." Thea's a little surprised by the conviction in her tone; she's never had a friend that sounds so devoted to the idea.

Oliver ignores the second half of her statement—the most important part, in Thea's opinion—instead saying, "Yes, but if I had another EA, you'd still be the best." He winks at her, causing some of the faded color across her cheekbones to return.

"If we're friends," Thea suggests, "we should do lunch sometime. It would be fun." Felicity affirms in a soft tone, half-distracted, and Thea realizes she's missed some sort of exchange.

The conversation the two have is in some sort of language Thea doesn't know, using raised eyebrows, half-smiles, and intense glances instead of words and phrases. Whatever it is, they seem to understand each other in a way that belies the intensity of their friendship. Thea marvels, not for the first time, at the way they seem to be so in tune with one another. She's drilled them both—on separate occasions—about their relationship, and while they've both said they're not together, Thea wonders again if they aren't just exceptionally good liars. But, then again, she's known Oliver all her life, and the guy couldn't lie his way out of a paper bag.

Thea could probably give him the third degree during lunch. She could demand answers, could ask how much time the two _really_ spent together, could inquire as to why Felicity didn't mind upgrading Verdant's computer systems _pro bono_. She could do all those things—and more—to demand details of her brother's love life, but she doesn't really see the point.

It doesn't matter what Felicity is to him because she makes him smile. That's enough.


	6. Trust

**Title: Trust**  
** Prompt: #25 - "You're scaring me."**  
**Summary: Terror is the mirror that reflects the soul.**  
** Episode Tag: pre-2.12**  
** Word Count: 1120**

**Notes:** Okay, now for the reboot of "Trust." There's another three hundred words or so in here, and I think it looks better overall. Anyway, if you could be so kind to ease a writer's insecurities, reviews are much loved and appreciated. If not, I understand you have better things to do, and I just thank you for taking the time to read. Let me know what I did right or wrong, and what you hated or loved! :)

* * *

By the time they shove Thea into a different room in the ruined building, she already knows that whatever is happening isn't good. The masked men don't hesitate to handle her roughly, indicating that ransom isn't really on their minds. And, if they're so cavalier about her treatment, God only knows what they're doing to Oliver. It's funny, but she isn't scared for herself now—she's scared for _him._

She can hear the rusted metal door slam shut behind her while she squints into the darkness of the room, eyes still adjusting to the distinct lack of light. The only thing she knows is that it's similar in layout to the grungy holding cell she was formerly a guest of, with two columns running from floor to ceiling and a makeshift bed in one corner. The building feels surprisingly industrial, but there are many industrial areas of Starling City, so that hardly helps her to discern her location.

Abruptly, she's forced into a wall, one arm behind her back, the other pinned between her ribcage and the wall. She knows enough to know that the person holding her there is male and much bigger than her, all sharp lines and muscles. The thought sends adrenalin roaring through her in fear, and without thinking, she jams one of her stiletto heels, and he grunts in pain but doesn't release his hold.

Another moment, and he moves away, as though he disappeared into the darkness. "Thea?" he asks warily, and the voice that comes out surprises her. It's Oliver, and he's safe. She heaves a sigh of relief. Why they suddenly decided to put her in a room with her brother, she doesn't know, but she's grateful to know she's near the one person in the building she cares about.

She instantly wraps her arms around his torso in a hug that's meant more for her comfort than his. "Ollie, you're all right!" she breathes, her arms squeezing much too tight. At the moment, she doesn't care about that; he's safe, they're together, and they're smart enough to figure a way out of this mess—she hopes.

He takes a moment to hug her, patting her back gently before pulling away abruptly. It doesn't take her long to see why; she can barely make out a long line of red, sticky liquid staining his shirt. Before he can say anything she reaches for him, asking, "What did they _do_ to you?" She pulls back his shirt to see bloody lines running alongside old scars, and it makes her heart hurt for him.

"It's fine," he assures her, his voice suddenly terse as he buttons his shirt again, and she remembers that he doesn't like people touching him. She figures it's a thing he's developed since the island, so she doesn't really push it. Something in his expression is calculating, and his eyes are dark in a way she's never seen before—and hopes never to see again. When he finally speaks again, his voice is an octave lower, scary in a way she's not expecting. "If they've moved you in here with me, it's probably to get me to talk." Thea doesn't quite understand, so Oliver clarifies, "They plan to use you to get the information they want from me." A shiver runs down Thea's spine as she understands the implications.

Finally, he draws a very logical conclusion, as impossible as it is simple: "We need to get out of here. _Now_."

To say that she doesn't understand is the understatement of the century. "_How?_" she demands to know. "They've got _guards_ out there. I've seen them, and we're not going to be able to get through guys like that."

Something flickers through his expression, and she thinks she's probably lost it because it looks like defeat—but then it's _triumph_. "Tell me how the guards are positioned," he almost barks, not sounding _anything_ like the brother Thea knows. "What weapons are they carrying? How many are there?"

She answers as best she can under pressure, all the while trying to unravel the insanity around her. "Two," she manages after a very long moment, her voice strangled by the fear clawing at her. Not fear for whatever hair-brained scheme her brother has come up with, but fear at the attitude he's displaying. He's almost fearless—and that's the last thing she expects him to be. "Two guards," she continues once her voice steadies, "one on either side of the door. I didn't see any weapons, but it was dark, and..."

A glint of something akin to satisfaction lights his face again, but she doesn't have time to think about it. He suddenly demands, "Stay back, but not too far. I don't want them splitting us up again."

Before she can ask what he means—or what the hell he thinks he's doing—he's somehow managed to use part of the bed's frame as leverage to pry open the rusted door, and it swings open violently. It slams into one of the guards, knocking him down and presumably incapacitating him. Moving faster than Thea would have _ever_ thought possible, he slams the other guard into the wall and throws a few lightning-fast punches with a lot of brute strength. She's not sure exactly what happens, but the guys are on the ground and they _aren't moving_. She hopes they're only unconscious because the other option is far worse to think about.

As soon as he ensures both guards are down for the count, he holds out his hand to her. "Come on, Speedy," he says, sounding surprisingly calm for someone who just _knocked out_ two guys.

She doesn't move. "You're scaring me," she manages to whisper past the lump forming in her throat—which is still preferable to the ideas forming in her head. He looks hurt at her admission, but he doesn't try to say anything. Finally she dares ask, "Ollie, how—?"

He cuts her off, shaking his head. "Not now, Thea," he says, serious but still gentle at the same time. "I promise to explain it all later, okay? But not now. We need to _go_." His tone on the last, emphasized word implies that he's not opposed to dragging her out, if necessary.

She's about to argue, to protest, to kick and scream and throw a fit. But then she sees the fear, the concern, the outright _panic_ warring in his features and she realizes he's just as afraid for her as she is for him. He's rushing, _panicking_, because he knows she's not safe, and she can see, in that single moment, that he'll do anything to protect her.

And without hesitation, she places her hand in his.


	7. Transparent

**Title: Transparent**  
** Prompt: #3 - "I know what I saw."**  
** Episode tag: Post-2.07  
Characters: Quentin Lance, Oliver Queen**  
** Word Count: 646**  
** Summary: Despite masks and cloaks, some people are still transparent.**

**Notes:** This is the reboot of "Transparent," with some dialogue and wording added in. This is actually the first one-shot in the "Little Talks" series that I wrote. That said, it's probably the most raw in the series; I've made leaps and bounds in writing the characters since then. That coupled with a very difficult perspective to write from, well, you get what you'll see below. This isn't the first of its kind, and I've seen multiple along the same plot, but I wanted to give voice to my own ideas. I won't ruin the story for you, but I don't consider a pairing to arise from this; if you don't understand why and want to know, please PM me. As always, reviews are much appreciated, but, either way, thanks for reading!

* * *

Quentin Lance does not consider himself a difficult man to get along with—unless, of course, he doesn't like someone, like that Queen kid. He also doesn't consider himself a fool. That reason is why he calls the meeting with the Arrow after the whole Count incident.

He's on the rooftop of the designated meeting building, staring at the impressive skyline and fuming—fuming because he doesn't like feeling he's been played. The Arrow said he was trying a different way, so Lance gave him the benefit of the doubt. But he heard otherwise on the radio not hours previously: he shot the Count three times before the guy fell off the building. Hell, Lance saw the guy with his own eyes, and he knows there's no way the Count could have survived the first arrow, much less the third. New way, indeed. Seems like old methods to him.

It doesn't take long for the Arrow to appear, standing proudly and in the distance so as to help hide his face. "Something troubling you, Detective?" he asks immediately, all business as usual. The voice synthesizer is switched on, making his tone unnaturally deep and electronic.

"I don't like being played," Lance says at once, also direct and straight to business. He doesn't elaborate, though.

Starling City's Vigilante cocks his head to the side in a way that registers familiarity to Lance, as often happens around the man. But, like always, he can't exactly place the feeling. "What do you mean?" he asks, and while the confusion isn't necessarily present in his altered voice, it is in his cloaked expression.

"You told me you were trying a different way," Lance continues, "But clearly you're not any longer. I heard the call go out on the radio tonight, and I saw the result. You killed that man in cold blood, and you said you wouldn't anymore." He shakes head in disgust. "Guess I was wrong to trust you... again."

The Vigilante speaks up instantly, something about his demeanor indignant. "You don't understand, Detective," he starts coolly.

"What's there for me to understand?" Lance shoots back instantly. "I know what I saw." He shakes his head, disgusted with the man he once believed in. "You put three arrows in that guy. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he's gone, but since when did you become judge, jury, and executioner?"

"He had Felicity," is the quick explanation the man in the green hood offers.

Just like that, it clicks for Lance. He was protecting one of his own. That, the former detective could understand—he would do anything if it was Laurel's life on the line. Still, he can't help but think the use of three arrows is excessive. At first he dismisses it as a warning for any other low-lives out there to avoid Felicity Smoak, but then it clicks again for him, this time his own revelation startling him.

"You love her, don't you," he says finally, and it's not a question—Lance already knows the answer. He takes the Arrow's silence as confirmation; if there's one thing he knows about the man, it's that he wouldn't hesitate to correct God himself. Lance isn't quite sure how he feels about his correct guess because, hell, he likes Felicity, but the girl is of similar age to his daughters. Heaven knows he wouldn't want them looking at a vigilante as a choice in romantic prospects.

After mulling it over a long moment, he says, "Be good to her, or you'll have me to deal with."

"Always, Detective," he answers, and something in his tone seems to be _sincere_, for a change. The other man is gone in an instant, leaving Lance to his thoughts, but they always come back to the same one: she could do a whole lot worse.

After all, he could be that damned Queen kid.


	8. Mischief

**Title: Mischief**  
**Prompt: #2 - "Did you hear that?"**  
**Summary: Consequences should be examine before actions are made.**  
**Characters: Roy Harper, Thea Queen, Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak**  
**Episode tag: Pre-02.12**  
**Word Count: 849**

**Notes:** I had to do a few re-posts to get up to par, so I decided to post something new to earn your forgiveness. :) This is one of my favorites, actually, and I like the way it turned out. I don't know what inspired this; it just... came out, and, well, here it is. I'm not really sure what else to say, so thanks for reading, and, if you're feeling generous, please leave me a review. Honestly, I'm a little nervous about this.

* * *

Roy still isn't sure that the two of them should be in here. Thea makes the argument that she's the one running the club now and it's okay, but, still, if Oliver catches them, he'll probably murder Roy. (Thea always rolls her eyes when he says this, but there's just something about the guy that makes him scary when he wants to be.)

But Thea is insistent about searching through Oliver's office because of some sort of secret room she says is there. Something about a keycode, but he doesn't quite remember because it seemed so ridiculous at the time. However, when she removes the panel on the breaker box to reveal a keypad, he quickly changes his mind. Why on earth would Oliver _Queen_ need a secret room?

"Let's see..." Thea says, muttering to herself. "He typed in one... five... three... two." With each number, she presses the matching key, but the lock still stays red when she finishes.

"Well, that worked," he tells her, rolling his eyes. It's a waste of his time, really, but she's his girlfriend and she's determined, so... well, he'll help her search Oliver's office.

She tries again a few times, with a few different combinations, but nothing happens. Then, when she finally gives up, they hear it: the sound of footsteps echoing down the narrow hall.

"Shit, what did you _do?_" Roy asks his girlfriend. In his opinion, it's time to panic; there's only one way out of the room, and they'd have to walk right by the people walking down the hall.

"Can we have this conversation—I don't know, _later?_" is her panicked response. She grabs him by the arm and shoves him into the coat closet, shutting the door behind her. "_Don't_ say a word," she demands, and he knows it's serious because she adds a finger point for emphasis.

Only seconds later, the door opens, and two sets of footsteps enter. "You sure there was a breach?" comes the question from a very masculine voice, but it's less playful than Roy is used to hearing. He's impressed; Oliver's response time is pretty quick.

The person he's talking to responds, "Definitely. Five incorrect attempts in a row, Oliver. That's not a mistake." Thea's eyes narrow as the woman speaks, and while the voice is familiar to Roy, he can't place it at first.

There's a slight pause before she rethinks her statement, "Well, I guess _that_ could be an accident on its own. Sometimes people get confused. The new guy on the employee list could have gotten turned around and thought that was the entrance to the employee area. I have a very poor sense of direction, so I _guess_ I could see how—"

Oliver cuts her off abruptly with a very stern, "_Felicity_." Suddenly, he's able to put two and two together: Felicity Smoak, Oliver's very awkward EA at the office-the one that Thea seems to be so fond of. Though it does make some sense, he still doesn't understand why she's _here_ of all places. Seems like an odd place for an EA.

"So," she says, drawing out the word, "given that alone, yeah, it could be a coincidence. But, considering the first attempt your intruder entered was last Thursday's passcode, then, well, I don't think it was an accident."

Thea smiles at Roy in a way that says, _I told you so_, and he knows he's going to hear about it later. When he rolls his eyes, she steps forward to poke his shoulder. However, in the process, she loses her balance, and manages to fall against him, knocking them both against the wall with a resounding _thud_.

Roy just knows the consequences are going to be bad when, outside, Oliver asks Felicity, "Did you hear that?"

She releases a small huff of breath as Roy holds his, glaring at Thea all the while. "Of _course_ I heard something, Oliver," she replies testily. "There's some God-awful techno music blaring outside and these old air ducts"—she taps the wall just on the other side of the closet—"are incredibly noisy. It's a miracle this place passed inspection, even with the huge bribe you gave them."

"Inspect the footage, please," he demands in response, his tone bordering on gentle. It's the nicest tone Roy's ever heard him use. "I want to know who's been snooping around in here."

"Sure," she says quickly, almost too eager to reply. "I'm going to check to see if they tampered with the locks. You go on ahead, do whatever it is you do."

A pause before his footsteps echo against the floor, and then Felicity's heels click as she moves closer to the closet. Abruptly, the door is pulled open, and a very satisfied Felicity Smoak is staring at them as they stare in surprise at her.

She's very calm as she says, smiling all the while, "I'll adjust the video footage for the night and save you guys _this_ time, but I don't want to see you in here again." Then, without waiting for a response, she walks away, leaving Roy and Thea to gawk at each other.


	9. Choices

**Title: Choices**  
** Prompt: #5 - "Promise me, you'll never do that again..."**  
**Summary: It's our choices that define us.**  
**Characters: Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak**  
** Episode Tag: pre-2.12**  
** Word Count: 918**

**Notes:** Okay, now for the reboot of Choices. I've changed some dialogue, and my goal is to induce a few more Oliver/Felicity feels. I hope it works. Anyway, please read and review. Thanks!

* * *

It doesn't take too long for Oliver to decide he's been an idiot on this particular mission. The building is more strongly fortified than he anticipated, there are way too many guards, and Diggle is trying very hard to fight off what sounds like an army over the comm. And then there's the most important reason: Felicity has to be on-site to bypass the security protocols.

Things are a literal nightmare, and, somewhere, Felicity is scurrying behind a computer for him, untrained and unprepared for the shitstorm he just dragged her into.

She's his first priority right now—mission be damned, he will not let her get hurt by any of these men. He can see her through the glass pane that passes for a wall in the building, slowly typing away, focused intently on the screen. Sometimes it scares him how much she depends on him to protect her—how much she _trusts_ him. He's never had anyone believe in him so thoroughly before, and it terrifies him because he knows he'll eventually let her down. Just like he lets everyone else down.

But not tonight. That's a promise he makes both to her and himself.

He locates himself into a strategic position to cover her, taking down anyone who gets too close with extreme prejudice. It's slaughter around him, but he doesn't have time to focus on the body count as he focuses on her. He fights half-distracted, allowing the enemy to get in a few more hits than usual, but he has to ensure no one gets too close to her. His worst fear is realized when he hears her whisper, "Oliver," over the comm. He looks up to see some idiot armed with a machine gun standing in front of her—but not for long. After dispatching the two newest mercenaries, he fires an arrow lightning fast, and a green-shafted arrow blossoms in her would-be attacker's chest. He falls instantly, gun clattering to the ground with him.

The sound of, "Hold it right there," behind him lets him know it was all a diversion. He half-turns back to the man, knowing what comes next, and at peace with it. He could shoot him, but the guy is in the proper position to hit Felicity, too, and it would only take a second to pull that trigger. He would be willing to gamble with his life, but not hers—_never_ hers. He slowly drops the bow in defeat, hoping she has enough sense to take cover until Diggle can get to her.

"Sorry, man," the gruff hired gun says, "but it's only business."

Gunfire erupts, but not from the direction Oliver expects. Bullets penetrate through the man with the gun once, twice, a third time. Five more shots echo across the long hall, all of them striking the same target with a precision he doesn't expect. Surprise keeps him in place for a moment, but he starts when he hears a gun clatter onto the tile floor. He picks up his bow before turning, to see Felicity staring, horrified, between him and the gun at her feet.

For a moment, he has absolutely no idea what to do. She has already proven, time and time again, that she's willing to die for him. That's terrifying enough as it is. But that she would _kill_ for him is another matter entirely. That's knowledge too dangerous for anyone to possess, least of all him.

But all of that is to think about later. Right now, all that matters to him is Felicity, who is still incredibly shell-shocked by the whole ordeal, staring blankly at the gun at her feet as though not truly seeing anything. He moves briskly toward her, gathering her in his arms for a moment. When she returns the hug, it's sudden, her grip frighteningly tight, as though her life depends on the hold she has on him. A gasp of horror leaves her, and she buries her head in his chest.

Oliver pulls back only enough to see her face, and he has to fight her grip to do even that. Felicity's cheeks are not tear-stained, as he expects, but her expression shows she's settled with a weight he never wanted her to bear. He places a hand to her face, cupping her cheek gently. "You okay?" he asks, staring down at her, trying to meet her eyes.

Finally, she does. "Yeah," she says quietly. Her eyes start to trail back to the man on the floor, her head turning slightly, but Oliver firmly tilts her head back toward him.

When he's satisfied she's telling the truth, he says, "Thank you, Felicity." The gratitude in his voice doesn't seem to be enough to cover the situation. "Promise me... you'll never do that again."

He's surprised by the sudden change in her. She doesn't have to speak because her expression says it all. Defiance is in her eyes, the set of her mouth, the tightness of her jawline. Her entire expression is a defiant, overwhelming "no."

He sighs because of _course_ she has to be difficult about this. He tries to reason with her by saying quietly, "Felicity, when you take someone's life, it's a choice—"

He's cut off by the sensation of her index finger against his lips. Though her expression is still grim, the sureness of her voice is stifling. Never before has he seen her so confident and certain as she says to him, "There was no choice to make."


	10. Protective

**Title: Protective**  
** Prompt: #14 - "You're bleeding..."**  
**Summary: Sometimes a guardian angel just isn't necessary.**  
**Characters: Quentin Lance, Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen**  
** Episode tag: pre-2.12**  
**Word Count: 842**

**Notes:** This is actually the same thing as the last time, since I made the revisions before posting last time. I'm sorry, but I do have to post this in now. **But, as a side note, there is a new chapter posted in _Talkative_ that directly follow this.** While I loved 02.14, I actually finished writing _this_ five minutes before the episode came on, and it has some similar elements. _This is completely coincidence!_ Seriously, it makes me feel like I'm copying them, even if the plot is vastly different. Oh, well, _c'est la vie_. As always, thanks for reading, and your reviews are always welcomed and appreciated.

* * *

It's a pretty quiet night on call for Officer Quentin Lance. For once, Starling City is quiet at night, and he's been patrol all evening almost _wishing_ for something to happen. As if to answer his call, though, it does. Suddenly, the building he's driving by explodes, fire shooting out of the top floor of the building. He radios it in as he starts driving toward it, trying to dodge around some of the wreckage left from the Undertaking that blew up half the Glades.

When he finally gets there, he's not really surprised by what he sees; he expects to see a few people running away from the rubble, stragglers who have holed up in abandoned buildings nearby. But he's surprised to see Felicity Smoak among them. Knowing that her presence indicates that the Vigilante is nearby, and that she'll most likely give the best information, he goes to her. His words fall away, though, when he notices the red blot on her blouse; he's been to enough crime scenes to know blood when he sees it.

"You're bleeding," he points out to her carefully, not wanting to startle her or draw attention from passersby.

It takes her a moment to react, examining the arm of her multicolored silk blouse. When she turns her head, she exposes the bluetooth headset on her ear that most likely connects her to the Vigilante. She makes a sound of disgust, before moaning, "I _love_ this shirt—I'm _never_ going to be able to get this out." She huffs before assuring him, "Oh, it's not mine." He can feel his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. In response, she turns a delicate shade of crimson as she realizes the implications of her words. "Oh, no, I didn't—" She stops abruptly, and a haunted expression masks her features—one that Lance knows all too well. "Well, what I _mean_ is this is spatter." She looks around her twice before whispering, "Our mutual friend, he—" She stops, miming the action of shooting an arrow from a bow.

He ignores her rambling speech, pulling her attention away from the blood on the sleeve. "No, _you're bleeding_," he tries again, this time motioning to the gradually expanding red blossom on her torso. He's pretty sure that indicates she's wounded.

She puts a hand to the spot quickly, wincing in surprise when pain shoots through her. "Oh, wow," she says, and her voice seems far too calm for the shock on her face. "Will you look at that? I guess I _am_ bleeding. And from a bullet wound, no less. I don't remember—" Before she can continue her speech, she stumbles, gasping as pain shoots through her.

He reaches for her elbow, catching her before she can collapse. "Take it easy there, kiddo," he says gently, the way he would speak to one of his own daughters. It's so funny how she brings out that side of him—not that he can understand why. "I think you need to take a moment and sit down here." He motions to the curb, and she sits down on the curb by his car. He leans closer to her before asking, "Where's our masked friend?"

She sighs before pointing to the top of a cathedral across the road, to something that looks like a statue. It takes a minute for his eyes to recognize that the rest of the statues don't seem to be wearing bows. Or wearing green hoods, for that matter. "He won't leave without me," she says in a huff, as if this is some sort of insult to her.

"The police will be on scene soon," he replies. "Do you want to stay for treatment or—"

"No, we can take care of this at the lair," she assures him, and he's not exactly sure he likes the thought of her receiving medical treatment at a place she calls a "lair." As if she reads his mind, she adds, "It's fine Detective." Not that he'll ever admit it aloud, but he likes that she still calls him "Detective," even though he lost that title after the Undertaking. "He has medical training, and—believe me—he's stitched up worse sounds than this."

Something in his tone makes him believe her, but before he can speak further, a modulated voice says from behind him, "Detective, we need to go." Faintly, he can hear the sounds of sirens responding to the call he put in.

He nods twice, turning stiffly toward the man who protects this city. "Of course." He hesitates before adding, "Take care of her, alright?"

The hooded vigilante offers him a solid nod. "Of course, Detective." Call him crazy, but he almost thinks the hooded psychopath sounds _insulted_ by the implication that he wouldn't watch out for the girl.

Without waiting for a response, the Arrow gathers her up in his arms, and they both disappear into the night.


	11. Secrets

**Title: Secrets**  
** Prompt: #08 - "What's the news?"**  
**Summary: Everyone has at least one secret, but some have more than that.**  
**Characters: Thea Queen, Felicity Smoak, Quentin Lance**  
** Episode Tag: Pre-02.13 "Heir to the Demon"**  
** Word Count: 1265**

**Notes:** Okay, I _seriously NEED TO STOP WRITING THEA'S POV_. Seriously, there are a myriad of wonderful characters to step into-_other_ than Thea. I don't know, I'm suddenly addicted. :) And this one-shot has been so difficult today. I don't know why, but first Thea didn't want to cooperate, then Lance wasn't doing what I needed him to, and then even _Felicity_ doesn't want to do what I tell her. But, finally, they've all gotten it in gear, and so here we are. If you're here, thanks for reading, and leave a review if you feel moved enough to do so. :)

* * *

It's not her fault, really. Thea doesn't mean to be poking around behind the scenes of Verdant when she sees Officer Lance follow Felicity Smoak back to Oliver's office, nor does she mean to see them. She does, however, mean to follow them and listen at the door like the eavesdropper she is. But, she tells herself, she's doing this for Oliver. Because if Felicity Smoak—Oliver's best friend, hands down—is involved with some hinky, super-illegal stuff, well, he needs to know.

Or, at least, that's what she tells herself. Mostly, though, she's just curious about what the hell Felicity Smoak could have to talk about with Detective Lance.

"You sure we should be meeting here?" the police officer asks the EA, as though the only thing abnormal about the entire situation is the fact that they're meeting in the office of a nightclub. "The last thing I need is Oliver Queen walking in and overhearing this entire conversation." It's a valid point, Thea can't help but think; after all, she _is_ standing just outside the door, eavesdropping. Oliver would, too, though he'd never admit it.

She can almost see Felicity rolling her eyes. "It's fine," she assures him. "Oliver thinks I'm setting up some more security protocols for the on-site servers." A pause as they probably exchange looks, before Felicity finally clarifies, "He thinks I'm doing computer stuff, and he knows better than to interrupt me when I'm doing important computer things. He doesn't like it when I yell at him."

Thea holds back a chuckle. It doesn't escape her notice that she calls him "Oliver" instead of "Mr. Queen," and she likes the way the two of them interact. She's seen it before on numerous occasions, from the dinner (when she was less than accommodating, but she's learned since then) where they first met to the trips to the office for lunch. She's his friend, and God knows he needs more of those, but she's also a type of friend that Oliver's not used to having: one who has his best interests in mind. And she does _not_ hesitate to speak her mind; Thea has seen the two of them arguing more than once, and she always seems to be blatantly honest.

If Lance notices her slips, he doesn't comment. "How's the wound?" he asks casually, as if he's discussing the weather. Thea's not exactly sure what wound he's talking about—or why an executive assistant would have anything that could be classified as a wound.

It's a moment before she replies, "Sore, I guess, but I'm told that's to be expected. He says that I'm lucky it was a through-and through." How in the world she got shot is anyone's guess, and Thea's eyes narrow as she tries to work through the information. What does the girl _do_ in her free time?

Oblivious to Thea's confusion, Felicity says to the detective, "What's the news?" Thea doesn't quite understand why Felicity is the one asking questions; generally, that's what the cops like to do. If he's letting her ask questions, that means it's probably not an official visit, so Thea could probably rest easy knowing that there's no problem. But now, they've piqued her attention, and she's very curious by nature.

"Sorry to catch you on such short notice," Lance replies, "but I thought you might want to know about the rash of robberies we've had downtown." Now she's confused; why would someone's _executive assistant_ care about a bunch of thefts? And, what _possible_ reason could there be for him to tell _her?_

"Robberies?" Felicity asks, simultaneously giving voice to Thea's increasing confusion. "I haven't heard about any robberies, and I do enough hack—" She cuts herself off abruptly before continuing. "I am not going to incriminate myself. Let me try again: I haven't heard about any robberies, and, believe me, I'd know." Thea can't believe her ears—did she just indicate that she was involved in illegal activity to a _cop?_

"We're keeping things quiet," Lance responds, pressing on as if her bizarre little babble never happened. "It's been pretty serious—five banks in the last two weeks. All of them were pretty high-tech, same MO, only two guys. They were wearing masks and gloves—so no prints—and the weapons are military grade. It doesn't look good, and I think we might need a little help on this one.

Thea has barely enough time to wonder why he would want _Felicity's_ help before she's speaking again. "You know I don't speak for... our _friend_, Detective, but I'll see what I can do on my own." There's a shuffling of paperwork that indicates a case file is being passed off, then the sound of pages being turned as Felicity sifts through the information.

"That would be helpful," Lance admits, "but you two need to be careful on this one. You can't let anyone know this information is coming from me. They could have my badge because I'm even talking to you."

"We'll be discrete," Felicity assures him, but then seems to change her mind. "Well, _I'll_ be discrete, but he'll be discrete as he ever is."

Lance actually chuckles at that. "Well, at least tell him to stop blowing up buildings—he's getting bad about that."

Felicity shifts on her feet a little, and Thea panics and steps away from the door. Instead of leaving, Felicity says, "Um, well, that was me last time, actually. The servers were a little temperamental, and, well, they didn't need to know what went missing."

Thea gapes open-mouthed, while Lance simply replies disapprovingly, "Well, at least before he kept you from getting involved. He's getting a little reckless with your safety." The scorn in his voice reminds Thea of the way her mother spoke to her after the whole shoplifting thing.

It makes Felicity bristle, though. "He _is_ not!" she replies indignantly, her voice a little louder than necessary. "_I'm_ getting better about arguing my points! I'm not just some fragile little China doll who's only good for hacking news feeds. I knew what I was getting myself into, Detective, and I'm glad I was there. If I wasn't, he would have been _killed_"—her voice breaks ever so slightly on the word—"and then where would we be?"

A long, awkward pause passes between them before Lance finally says, "He's lucky to have you, Miss Smoak. Don't let him forget that."

She laughs. "Oh, I don't think he will, but I'll remind him anyway."

There's the sound of feet shuffling across the floor, and Lance's voice moves toward the door. "I have to get back to my rounds now, but let the Hood know how much I appreciate him giving us that data from last time—even if you had to blow up a corrupt business to do it. Rowland will be in jail for a long time thanks to you two."

Thea stifles a gasp as she moves away from the door before she can hear the rest of the conversation—or get caught. Her mind reels as she realizes the implications of the conversation she overheard.

Felicity Smoak, her brother's best friend, knows the Vigilante personally.

And Officer Lance, who wants nothing more than to see Oliver in jail, is feeding her information.

Thea knows, of course, that she should proceed as though nothing happened. She makes a promise to herself: no matter how much she loves her, Thea will _not_ let Felicity Smoak drag Oliver into business with the Vigilante, no matter what she has to do to stop him.


	12. Enemy

**Title: Enemy**  
**Prompt: #20 - "I want to help."**  
**Summary: A common enemy can unite even the unlikeliest of allies.**  
**Characters: Isabel Rochev, and one I'm going to let you discover on your own :)**  
**Episode tag: Post-02.13 "Heir to the Demon"**  
**Word Count: 913**

**Notes:** Though I've posted this previously, this is the reboot. I've made some changes, and maybe things look a little better now. This one is the result of a very frustrating series of homework assignments. The good news of that is that I tend to vent my frustration in writing, so new story. :) The bad news is that I tend to vent my frustration in my writing, so my characters get a little sadistic when I've had a bad day. Hence the use of those listed below. :D

This might possibly be my favorite piece I've written, with the possible exception of "Hero," which will be up soon. This is like my original fiction style, so it flowed naturally. Of course, I've made some revisions since the original, but I think they're for the better. Anyway, I'll let you do your thing now. Reviews are much appreciated, but that you're here reading this is nice, too. Let me know what you think!

* * *

It's too late for a meeting, she decides as she disembarks the elevator on the top floor of Queen Consolidated. Through the window, she can see the cloudy, starless night, and she takes a moment to ponder her dilemma. The moment passes quickly, though, and then she is once again moving toward her goal, in more ways than one.

It takes her longer to get to the meeting place than expected, as she isn't used to walking past the CEO's office and the glass walls that are her very opposite in transparency. Instead, she traverses further down the hall, to where there are no glass-walled offices. When she stops, it's in the only office occupied at this time of night.

Isabel Rochev is a sight to behold even in the dark office, her ebony locks straight, and not a hair out of place. Her dress is vibrantly crimson, and she is the epitome of the female executive. Isabel casts her eyes upon her visitor with interest, her expression betraying nothing. "What do _you_ want?" she asks, barely looking up from her paperwork.

Her visitor makes herself at home, sitting in one of the two guest chairs. That is the question, isn't it? What she wants, though, is something she can no longer have. It was just another in a series of things stolen from her, and God knows she's lost enough in the past few years. But it's different this time.

This time, she wants it _back_.

Instead of answering, she replies with her own question, "What do you know of Felicity Smoak?" She keeps her expression neutral, her voice giving nothing of her plans and schemes away. This, according to Oliver Queen, is exactly what gets her into trouble in the first place. While she can't necessarily disagree with him, she thinks it best to play to her strengths. Deception is one of those.

The question gains Isabel's attention only long enough for her to roll her eyes. "She's just another blonde secretary sleeping her way to the top," she says stiffly, dismissively. But there's an undertone that the other woman doesn't miss. Clearly no love has been lost in that particular relationship. Isabel belies her interest, though, when she finally asks, "What about her?"

"She took something from me," is all she says. "Something that can't be returned or repaired. I want her to pay for that." The biting anger comes out of her this time, so she looks downward for a moment as she attempts to regain composure. It would not do well for this to appear personal. And, in the same sense that one should not bleed around sharks, it is also unwise to show any sort of weakness to Isabel Rochev.

The papers fall onto the desk this time, and Isabel neatly folds her hands on top of them, looking all the more like the CEO Queen Consolidated needs, loathe as her guest is to admit it. "I know some people," she says shrewdly, her tone calculating, "but making her disappear wouldn't come cheap. And I think we both know that you don't have that kind of money. That vindictive, manipulative side comes out as she adds, "Well, not anymore."

The other woman shakes her head. "Oh, no, Ms. Rochev," she corrects, "the last thing I want Felicity Smaok to do is disappear. She has the ear of the CEO of this company, and she's causing him to make some... _terrible_ decisions." She too folds her hands, but over her lap. "I want her humiliated, Ms. Rochev. I want her validity, sanity, and competency doubted by everyone—and I do mean _everyone_."

Isabel Rochev isn't a fool, so her visitor doesn't see any need to explain why the situation would be advantageous. Losing Felicity would cripple Oliver, both emotionally and professionally, and that would present an opportunity for Isabel. The woman across from her knows she's very nearly selling her soul to the devil, but some crimes simply can't go unpunished. And, after all, there is that saying about a woman scorned.

She is most decidedly a woman scorned.

As, apparently, is Isabel. She nods once to herself before finally saying, "I want to help." She offers nothing more, her expression just as concealed as her guest's. Isabel Rochev is as poised and calculating as the other woman has been led to believe, and she finds that she likes this quality. It's always best, after all, to have a business partner who doesn't let emotions get in the way.

The other woman smiles. "I thought you might," she admits. Rising from her seat, she continues, "I'll contact you with details once everything is arranged. I trust you can keep a secrets?" The question is rhetorical, and, as such, it goes unanswered. "Goodnight, Ms. Rochev."

She's halfway out the door before she hears the response: "My business partners call me Isabel." Again, there is no emotional quality, no familiarity. It's all just simply business.

The other woman turns with a flourish and a polished smile. "Then I see no reason why you can't call me Moira."


	13. Thieves

**Title: Thieves**  
** Prompt: #11 - "You stole that from me."**  
**Summary: The things that are easiest to steal have no value.**  
**Characters: Sara Lance, Laurel Lance**  
** Episode Tag: Post-02.13 "Heir to the Demon"**  
** Word Count: 735**

**Notes:** I'm still just not sure what to say about this one. It's probably not going to be all that popular, but I think this needed to happen on the show, and that it's cruel that the writers stole this from us. I'm not saying I'm that capable, but something needed to have happened here. If you would like to ease a writer's self-doubt, a review would be appreciated but, if not, thanks for reading!

* * *

Even after all that transpired between them, Sara finds herself again across the rooftop from Laurel's apartment, keeping watch over the sister that supposedly hates her. Through the windows, she sees the tears—and worse, the alcohol. Laurel, as is her wont now, falls upon her crutch because of the hatred deep inside her—hatred for her own _sister_.

Not that Sara can blame her; there have been many days—_so_ many days—where she's hated herself, too. She hates how she ruined the relationship Laurel and Oliver had, she hates that she couldn't bear to show her face in Starling again, but, most of all, she hates how naïve she was to think that all would magically be forgiven because she showed up at Laurel's door, alive.

Laurel told her to get out, sure. But Sara doesn't think that's an option for her any longer.

Not a few minutes later, Sara is at her sister's door again. She could probably just break through a window, sneak in undetected, but—despite what Laurel may think—Sara respects her more than that. She rings the doorbell hesitantly, wishing she was simply heading to Oliver's lair again. It's so much simpler for her to be the Black Canary, to stop killers and criminals—all the while being one herself. But she isn't, she reminds herself. She has something far more important to do first.

Sara knows the moment Laurel goes to the door, knows the moment she looks through the peephole to see her visitor. She can almost taste the rage, hatred, and anguish from the other side.

Before the island, before Sara's so-called "death," the two had a ritual for fights. Sara would say something hurtful, Laurel would yell and throw things, and then, _finally_, Sara would come back and beg for her sister's forgiveness. Only then would the two be at peace—for however long it lasted, usually not long at all.

Once upon a time, but no longer. What Sara told Oliver was the truth: she had died on that island. The Sara Lance daring to knock on her sister's door no longer grovels, no longer pleads. Sara Lance no longer begs because her dignity—what little of it isn't already in tatters—is the only thing she has left. After so long just attempting to survive, all else has fallen away. So she will _not_ beg Laurel to open the door, to talk to her, to forgive her.

But, somehow, the door still swings open, and for the first time, Sara is not groveling on the other side.

But the door opening is half the battle. The sister before Sara has puffy eyes and tear stains on her blouse. She has two empty bottles of chardonnay sitting on the coffee table, and another, half full, sitting next to them, keeping company with an empty wine glass. "What do _you_ want?" Laurel asks Sara with narrowed eyes and slurring speech.

Though Sara doesn't think it's the answer Laurel is looking for, she still answers honestly. "To talk to my sister for the first time in forever. To remember that I'm not a ghost and that I have a family. To right even one of the many mistakes I've made."

Laurel scoffs haughtily. "Well, you're too late for that, Sara," she says coldly, and it hurts, even though Sara knows it's just the alcohol talking. "Six years ago, I was in love with Oliver Queen." Sara's not sure Laurel even notices the Freudian use of the past tense. "Six years ago, I was going to move in with him. We were going to get engaged, to have a family, to live our lives together." She's quiet for a moment before adding heatedly, "You _stole_ that from me."

Before Sara can think of what to say, the door is closed again, slamming against the frame. She sighs deeply, scrubbing furiously at the tear that has fallen away without her permission. She stands there a moment, surprised by the power of her own emotions, her own feeling of betrayal, shame, and that ever present guilt. And then she simply walks away, as if she was never there.

She'll try again tomorrow, she decides, once Laurel is sober again.

Because Sara has had many things taken from her in the past, and she'll be damned if she'll allow Laurel to steal what little remains of their once-happy family.


	14. Loyalty

**Title: Loyalty**  
** Prompt: #09 - "Do you hear yourself?"**  
**Summary: Deciding where one's loyalties lie is never an easy thing.**  
** Episode Tag: Post-02.13 "Heir to the Demon"**  
**Characters: Thea Queen, Moira Queen**  
** Word Count: 689**

**Notes:** I find it very weird that the last three fics I've written ("Open," "Trust," and now, "Loyalty") use Thea's point-of-view as the basis for their dialogue. I didn't mean to do that; it's just what happened. Weird, but there it is. The story for this prompt was inspired by a conversation I had with Becks Rylynn. We talked about the complexity of the relationship between Moira and Thea, and how difficult it is to write. I know I really haven't done it justice, but I _had_ to do something after thinking about it. I hope it came out alright. Anyway, if you'd be so kind to leave a review, I'd greatly appreciate it. :) If not, well, thanks for reading anyway.

* * *

Thea actually laughs with her mother for a change as they both admire the huge amount of clothes they've both bought. Since the trial and ensuing chaos, they haven't really had a chance to have a girls' day out, and she's forgotten how nice it is to spend time with her mother. While Moira Queen isn't exactly a doting mother, Thea isn't exactly an admiring daughter. But, somehow, it usually manages to work out between them.

"All the clothes we would ever need," Thea says to her mother cheerfully, "and not a speck of orange to be found." She finds it easy to joke about her mother's brush with the death penalty now, even though it made her blood run cold at the time. That part of their lives is over now, and it's no longer something to worry about. It's just a shared joke.

Moira laughs lightly, as much as she ever does; Thea knows her mother is stoic, even though it makes things tense between them. "Orange isn't exactly my color," she agrees lightly as she pulls a new blouse from one of one of their many bags. It's red and fetching—unlike the orange cotton garments they were just discussing.

Abruptly, something shifts in Moira's expression, and the smile falls, even though she tries hard to hide it. The change gives Thea whiplash, so she naturally asks, "Hey, what's wrong?" Her tone is as light and cheerful as possible, trying to hide the concern in her voice.

"Nothing," Moira assures her daughter, that poised, fake smile back in place. "I was just thinking how this would go lovely with those earrings Oliver gave me on my birthday last year."

It doesn't take a genius to realize that relations are strained between Oliver and Moira these days. Thea isn't sure what exactly caused the tension, but every time Moira mentions Oliver, the worry space between her eyebrows wrinkles. Additionally, every time Oliver talks about their mother, what little light left in his eyes from after the island drains instantly. Something has happened, but neither of them dares to acknowledge anything is wrong.

Thea huffs testily, tired of the grueling charade. There's an elaborate dance between the two of them, and it's time for her cut in. The Queen home is nothing but lies and accusations these days, and she's seen it too many times. "Mom, what's going on?" she asks finally.

The smile Moira offers in response is fake. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she says in that lofty businesswoman tone, standing at full height for a moment before turning back to the clothing.

Thea isn't buying it, though. "Don't try to lie to me," she demands. "I know there's something going on between you and Oliver, alright? I just want to know what the problem is."

Moira sighs in defeat. "Oliver and I are having a disagreement about the campaign. It's nothing to worry about," she assures her daughter, but the look on Moira's face betrays the truth.

Still, Thea knows what to push and what to leave well enough alone. She'd rather go for the reason than the emotion, so she asks, "Well, for the sake of avoiding World War Three, what topics do I need to avoid?"

Another dramatic sigh sounds before Moira finally admits, "Oliver has some concerns about my campaign. I don't think he wants me to run."

Thea knows what's going to happen now, but she can't contain her opinions any longer. "Do you _hear_ yourself?" she asks, incredulous. "Ollie is your biggest campaign contributor! He stopped backing his _friend_ Sebastian when you announced you were running! How could you even _think_ that?!" She's surprised to realize she's yelling at the end of her speech.

Trying to avoid yet another fight with her mother, she turns on her heel and marches promptly out of the room, her heels echoing against the the hardwood floors. Moira is calling, "Thea!" behind her, but she doesn't answer—doesn't respond. She knows where her loyalties lie.

But what she doesn't know is that she's chosen a side in a much larger fight.


	15. Charade

**Title: Charade**  
** Prompt: #13 - "I can't see anything."**  
**Summary: The best acting comes when one doesn't have to act.**  
**Characters: Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak**  
** Episode Tag: None**  
** Word Count: 1463**

**Notes:** This will probably be the last and only one this weekend; actually, I wasn't quite sure I would even be able to post this one. Weekends are always a little crazy for me, but I think you probably know that by now. :) Anyway, I'll be back on Monday with regular updates. And _this one-shot_. I'm a little in love with it, honestly. This is the final piece in the series in writing order (obviously there are still 10 to go), and it took me _forever_ to come up with this idea. It's a little fluffy, but I don't think anyone will mind. Anyway, if you could be so kind as to read and review, I'd appreciate it! :)

* * *

Oliver doesn't know how he keeps getting himself into these situations. As they ascend the stairs together, Oliver can't quite stop the thought from going through his mind, for not the first time that night. It's difficult for him to maintain that same level of denial when he's that close to her and she's _that_ stunning. She looks very much like she belongs here in _that_ dress, and he wonders again if the color choice wasn't completely intentional.

The mission isn't as complicated as some they've carried out in the past, but that doesn't mean he particularly likes this one. Any mission that involves Felicity in the line of fire is one that he doesn't like; ever since the event she calls the "Rowland thing," he's been afraid to let her out in the field again. He didn't like that haunted look in her eyes, and he doesn't _ever_ want to see that look on her face again. But she's intent on stopping the criminal of the week, Alfred Sykes, from using his fortune to fund drug cartels and gun running. It's Oliver's intention to sabotage a few drops, but he first has to figure out where those will be. However, Sykes is a bit smarter about keeping his personal business personal, with off-grid computers and on-site security.

Which means that Oliver, much to his chagrin, needs Felicity in the field.

The entrance was easy enough; the Queen family receives an invitation to the Sykes gala every year (a _charity_ event, which turns Oliver's stomach). When his mother wanted to avoid the publicity after the trial, Oliver jumped at the opportunity, knowing it would be useful for intel. And, naturally, Oliver Queen does _not_ go to a public event without a model-worthy date. Thankfully, Felicity fits that bill, and for not the first time he's grateful that his computer genius happens to be from the female minority.

He's always known she's attractive, but now that she's trying to meet the "Oliver Queen date standard" (her words, not his), she's absolutely breathtaking. She left her hair down for a change, and replaced her glasses with contacts. Her dress for the night (which he insisted on paying for, and only got her to agree if she could pick it out) is floor-length in a thirties-inspired look that she wears surprisingly well. It has a neckline that Thea described as "sweetheart" (whatever that means), with off-the-shoulder straps, falling delicately into a skirt that isn't quite full, but it isn't form-fitting, either.

And, to top it off, it's emerald green—which he doesn't quite believe is coincidence.

Her arm is draped through his, and she's chosen white silk gloves that end just a few inches above her elbows. Oliver can't help but think that they're a nice touch, since it's best for them not to leave any fingerprints in places they're not supposed to be. He hasn't been able to say much to her, for fear of admitting things he can't quite admit to himself, but he finally finds his voice when he sees those blue eyes fixed upon his with a question. "You look lovely tonight," he says quietly, but it doesn't quite disguise the rough tone in his voice. Not even he expects the way it comes out, and he winces mentally at the way it sounds.

It apparently startles Felicity as well, judging by the way her eyes widen before she turns away, blushing. "Thank you," is her response, though it's not as flattered as he expects. "You don't have to be nice, you know. There's no one up here to appreciate the act."

He wonders yet again how she can have such a low opinion of herself. "It wasn't an act," he assures her. Feeling she won't believe him anyway, he adds playfully, "Green is a good color on you." Her blush darkens, as he expects, but he isn't quite prepared for the stutter in her step.

He releases her arm soon after to start checking doors for their target, and they're halfway down the hall when he finds the locked room. He picks the the lock easily, then motions Felicity in with a hand at her shoulder. She moves to the computer desk immediately, completely in her element as she hacks through security layers. Oliver does what little he can to help, standing by the now unlocked door, listening for any security that might present a problem.

All actually seems to be going well, for a change, until it isn't. Five minutes in, Felicity makes a noise of disgust, frantically searching the floor. "Oh, this is _so_ not good," she mutters to herself, probably hoping Oliver won't hear.

"What's wrong?" he answers instantly, trying not to sound as panicked as he feels. It's funny how, when Felicity is involved, it always seems to send his emotions into overdrive. He's not exactly sure why that is—or, more likely, he doesn't want to think about why that is.

"I can't see anything," she answers distractedly, not really paying attention to what she's saying.

He's by her side instantly, tilting her head up to stare into her eyes, to see what problem she seems to be having with them. They look fine, in his opinion, but he always thinks she has lovely eyes. "_What?_" he demands, and she flinches at the dark, Arrow-like turn his voice has taken. He's not sure who did this to her or what happened, but so help him...

She swats his hand away as she rolls her eyes, her attention going back to the floor. "Oliver, I'm _fine_," she assures him. "I lost one of my contacts, and I just can't see."

He breathes a heavy sigh of relief, but masks it with the frustration he feels. "We don't have time for that!" he snaps at her, wincing as he regrets it instantly. She doesn't seem to mind, though. Nicer, he adds, "We only have a few minutes before the security detail comes around again."

"Okay, okay," she says, sitting upright in the chair and holding her hands up in surrender. She squints at the screen, even though her face is mere inches away from the monitor. After a pause that feels like it lasts lifetimes, she says, "Got it. Now I just need to..." She pulls a flash drive out of a place he most certainly should _not_ be looking if he wants to stay in denial and plugs it into the computer. He notices that her hands are starting to shake with adrenalin. "Ripping the files now."

The success is forgotten instantly when Oliver hears footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors outside. Without thinking, Oliver crouches down, grabs Felicity about the waist, and slides them both under the solid-panel desk. She opens her mouth in surprise, but he clamps a hand over his mouth. The action is just in time, too, as the guards try the door and their footsteps sound quietly on the carpet. One of the guards mutters something about Sykes leaving the door unlocked, then shuts the door behind them.

It's only then that Oliver realizes the situation he's gotten himself and Felicity into. While his back is against the panel, Felicity is draped perpendicularly across his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck when he grabbed her, and because of the small space, her face is only inches from his. His left arm is wrapped around her waist, pulling her into him, his right over her mouth to keep her quiet for a change. Her eyes are practically bulging out of her head in surprise, and he does admit to feeling a little sheepish himself.

When he finally removes his hand from her mouth, it falls on something, and he instantly knows what it is. Without a word, he presents Felicity with her contact lens she was looking for. "Thank you," she says quietly, fanning her breath against his cheek. She scrambles away with her contact lens as quickly as possible, as if distance will help her escape the awkwardness. Her cheeks flush, and Oliver's pride wants him to believe it's something more than embarrassment—especially since their almost-kiss in the lair.

As he crawls out of the makeshift hiding place himself, she pulls the flash drive out, her contact lenses mercifully back in place. She holds up the drive in triumph, calling, "Got it!" Then, she covers her mouth as she realizes she should be quieter, handing him the drive at the same time. He puts it into the breast pocket of his suit, offering Felicity his arm as though they hadn't been inches away from something with romantic connotations.

Despite the charade, the lingering flush on her cheekbones and his elevated heart rate remind him that it's not always an act.


	16. Deceptive

**Title: Deceptive**  
**Prompt: #24 - "You'll come bail me out, right?"**  
**Summary: It pays to gather your own intelligence.**  
**Characters: Thea Queen, Helena Bertinelli, Felicity Smoak**  
** Episode Tag: pre-2.12 "Tremors"**  
** Word Count: 942**

**Notes:** I'm not sure I like this one, honestly, but I felt like it needed to be written for what I have planned next. :) And I thought it would be more interesting to do than use the standard kidnapping plot. All my doubts aside, thanks for reading, and, if you would, please take the time to review. Thanks!

* * *

Thea wakes up in some abandoned building, head spinning from the drugs given to her. She can't see much of anything with the way the wicked lights dance around in her vision, but she does know that her captor is female. Of that much, she is certain. After all, she is quite familiar with Helena Bertinelli.

"Be a good little girl," Helena taunts in that mocking tone that Thea has already come to hate, "and I won't have to hurt you. I have nothing against you—it's the Vigilante I want. You're just a means to an end." She says it like it's all perfectly logical, but Thea's pretty sure that drugging and kidnapping someone to taunt a _killer_ isn't really logical.

"My brother told me you were crazy," Thea responds, unhappy with the way her words slur. "Good to know he was right about _something_."

Helena laughs. "It's funny what he chooses to tell you," she says snidely, making implications that Thea knows probably have merit. "He tells you how horrible _I_ am, but he doesn't tell you a _thing_ about himself." She tilts her head to the side, smiling that superior smile that Thea would gladly knock off her face if she wasn't so stoned. "Tell me, how much do you _really_ know about Oliver Queen?"

"More than _you_," Thea says, finding her own snide voice.

And she knows it to be true; she _does_ know her brother, in the only way that matters. She knows he has scars from the island—scares that he _hates_. She knows that he only became part of the family business because of that thing in the Glades, and that he feels guilty because their mother was a part of it. She knows that Verdant is really a front for something else—something that he keeps secret from everyone. She knows that his driver, Mr. Diggle, is like a brother to him. She knows is best friend is, without question, Felicity Smoak, and that he's probably a little in love with her.

But most importantly, she knows he's her brother, and that she loves him unconditionally. That's good enough for her.

Something in her expression must tell Helena that she needs to back off, because she doesn't reply. Instead, she scrolls through the contacts in something that looks suspiciously like Thea's phone. "Well, let's find out if you're right," she says simply.

Helena puts the phone on speaker and it rings repeatedly, but there's no answer for a very long time. Finally, it transfers, and someone else picks it up. "I'm sorry," says the familiar female voice on the other end, "but Mr. Queen isn't in right now." Felicity sounds distracted, as if she's trying to do something else important at the same time. "May I take a message, please?"

Helena motions for Thea not to mention anything about the kidnapping and not to alert anyone else to the problem. Thea manages to compose an idea in her head, so she starts speaking fast, trying to keep things sounding normal. "Hello, I don't think I've been to the office since you've been hired. This is Thea Queen. I'd like to leave a message for my brother." She hopes Felicity is quick enough on her feet to pick up the code and play along. She does work with the Vigilante, after all, so Thea hopes she's able to lie pretty impressively.

She doesn't sound so distracted when she speaks again. "Yes, of course, Miss Queen," is the quick response, and Thea holds back a sigh of relief. She isn't surprised by how smoothly she transitions into the line, but she does fall into the secretary act quite well. "I'm ready, if you'd like to begin, please."

"Um, could you let him know I'm with a friend of his-Helena?" Thea can hear the pen stop moving across the paper in recognition of the name, but, thankfully, Felicity doesn't say anything. "She's been looking for my brother for _ages_, and she finally ran into me today." She stares straight at Helena, unafraid as she continues. "She's practically holding me hostage until she gets to see Ollie!" She fakes a laugh, surprised by how real it sounds. "She's horrible company, honestly. Anyway, I _would_ drive her down to see him—if only to get _rid_ of her—but my car stalled." She huffs loudly. "Maybe you could get Quentin or your other friend"—she hopes Felicity understands her references to Officer Lance and the Arrow—"to come fix it for me?"

She huffs when there's no immediate answer, as if she's pouting like the spoiled rich brat she is. "You'll come bail me out, right?" she finishes the question, hoping she wasn't talking too fast for Felicity to catch.

When Felicity finally responds, Thea can only recognize the strangled quality of her voice because she knows her so well. "Yes, of course, Miss Queen. I'll let the proper mechanics know." A pause before she adds a phrase weighted slightly, "I'm sure they'll be able to find a solution for you. And Mr. Queen will be notified. We'll have you back home in no time."

Before anything else can be said, Helena terminates the call. "Cute story," she says, not sounding impressed at all. "At least it's enough to let your brother know that you're with me. I have no doubt he'll be here soon." Thea hides a grin because Helena has ordered a whole lot more than Oliver Queen. She never thought she'd say this, but there are perks to being friends with Felicity Smoak.

After all, she _does_ have the Vigilante wrapped around her little finger.


	17. Hero

**Title: Hero**  
** Prompt: #6 - "Don't touch me."**  
**Summary: It's funny how the most heroic actions can be the simplest.**  
**Characters: Thea Queen, Helena Bertinelli, Oliver Queen**  
** Episode tag: Sequel of sorts to "Secrets"**  
** Word Count: 1619**

**Notes:** Augh, this one-shot. First of all, it's my longest, at over 1600 words, so that's good at least. Secondly, it's probably my favorite in the series. :) Finally, it's in Thea's point-of-view (again), and I don't know why this keeps happening to me. :) Then, it's supposed to be based on the prompt "Who do you think you are?" and then it decides to be "Don't touch me." I don't know why this one has been so temperamental, but I think I managed to make it work. :P Anyway, if you could review, I'd greatly appreciate it. But, hey, if you want to just read, thanks for doing that, too. :D

* * *

Thea pounds her fists against the steel wall repeatedly, yelling in frustration all the while. She can't believe there's a rusted chain around her ankle, and she's taking her anger out against the only thing she can find. Not that she thinks it will help her escape or anything—but it _would_ be a nice bonus if she could. Mostly, though, she wants to give Helena Bertinelli a migraine for kidnapping her; it would serve her right.

Oliver wasn't kidding when he said she had a few screws loose, and that was why they stopped dating. She keeps going on about getting revenge on the Vigilante, or some such nonsense, for trying to kill her. Thea isn't quite sure how kidnapping _her_ fits into Helena's plan of revenge, but, hey, she isn't going to argue with the _psycho chick_ holding the crossbow. It's a thing she likes to call common sense.

As if on command, though, the Vigilante makes his presence known. She can't exactly see him through the metal door separating her from Helena, but she can hear his synthesized voice. "Let her go," he demands of Helena. "She has nothing to do with this. It's hard to tell with the synthesizer, but it sounds almost as if he's angry—_furious_, actually.

Helena doesn't seem too afraid as she laughs haughtily at him. "Oh, you haven't changed _one_ bit," she says to him, equal parts taunting and scathing. It surprises Thea that they actually seem to know one another, though. "I _knew_ you'd come," she tells him, sounding almost bored. "Maybe I should have picked someone more important to you, though; Thea's been a bit... well, _boring_. Your blonde girlfriend was fun to play with last time," she says, and Thea suddenly understands how Felicity knew Helena's name. They must have had an altercation in the past—one that didn't exactly end well. Helena thinks about that for a moment before saying, "Well, there's always next time."

"No, there's not," the Vigilante respectfully disagrees, and the thought is punctuated by the sound of two arrows being released almost as one. "This is _my_ city," he says then, "and I will _not_ let you wreak havoc in it." She's not sure if the silence is good or bad, nor what it means for Helena. A pause before he adds, quieter this time and further away from the metal door. "The Queen family is protected—make that clear to your friends in prison." Thea isn't quite sure _why_ that is, but she can hazard a guess.

The door slides open then, and the Starling city Vigilante stands before her, in all his green-hooded glory. He's taller and more muscular than she expects him to be in person, all sharp angles and _way_ too much leather for her tastes. (Seriously, the guy needs a good designer.) He's careful about the way he approaches her, moving slowly and gripping the bow very loosely in his hand. Finally, he's close enough he can crouch before her, so patient and steady, until she can make out the stubble on the line of his jaw and the black mask over his eyes.

"Are you all right?" he asks, his voice quieter than she could have ever imagined possible, even through the synthesizer.

"Sure, peachy," Thea replies dryly, rolling her eyes. "I've been kidnapped by one psychopath, only to be rescued by another. Why _wouldn't_ I be all right?"

It could be the drugs making her see things, but she _thinks_ she can see the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. He leans down abruptly, examining the metal shackle around her ankle carefully, going out of his way to avoid touching her. It's rusted shut, but somehow he manages to break the hinge wide open, allowing her to pull herself free.

He rises again, turning away from her while saying, "I need an exit strategy. _Now_."

Now he's just being ridiculous. "Do I _look_ like I'm walking around with blueprints in my head?" she replies with a huff. Pardon her for being in a bad mood, but, after all, she _was_ just kidnapped by her brother's psycho ex. If the Vigilante is looking for a grateful damsel in distress, he just needs to look elsewhere—because she's not interested.

The Vigilante turns back toward her, almost as if she's an afterthought. "I wasn't talking to you," he snaps sharply. Then, he continues, as she notices the comm at his ear for the first time, "As fast as possible. ..._Please_." Thea can't help but notice that he's a whole lot nicer to whoever-it-is than he is to _her_.

She's done enough research to hazard a guess. "Is that Felicity you're talking to?" she asks casually, and the way his head snaps up in response affirms her suspicions. "I thought so." She thinks on the situation for a moment before saying, "I've heard her talk about you, you know, and I hear the way you talk to her. Just so we're clear? I'm grateful and everything, but you're nowhere _near_ good enough for her."

"I know," he says abruptly, but Thea's not sure if he's talking to her or Felicity. But the quality of his voice suggests he's speaking to the former.

She points a finger at him as she continues on with her little rant. "And, besides, my brother has a thing for her—even though he doesn't want to admit it—so you _better_ make sure she stays in one piece."

"Are you done giving out relationship advice?" he snaps suddenly at her. "We need to go. Can you walk?" His tone indicates that if she can't, he won't hesitate a moment to carry her out of the building.

Thea stands, despite being a little wobbly on her feet. She is not so full of dubious drugs that she won't walk out of this building of her own free will. And, besides, if this guy were to carry her, he'd probably drop her just for spite, since he's so charming and all.

In an instant, he's making a brisk walk toward the exit, and she can't really compete, what with his long strides and her heels, so she's practically running to keep up with him. The exertion wears on her quickly, and she makes it through about two corridors before her vision goes spotty and her head feels like she's spinning. She leans against the wall, trying desperately not to pass out because she's sure that Prince Charming won't hesitate to leave her with Helena again.

She realizes she's misjudged him, though, because he turns back to her and demands, "What's wrong?" His voice fades in and out, but, somehow, Thea doesn't think that's him.

"I don't know," she says honestly. "She gave me... _something_. It makes me all woozy, and I can see some wicked awesome lights, too. Makes me feel like I'm on Vertigo again." She opens her eyes to see two Vigilantes staring back at her, both equally tense at the mention of Vertigo. She groans. "Oh, wow. Now I've got double vision. _Awesome_."

He's surprisingly gentle as he reaches out to her, taking her arm. Instantly, she pulls away, not sure she should trust a _killer_, even if he is her savior today. "_Don't_ touch me," she snarls, surprised by the animosity in her own voice, and how strangled it sounds.

He backs away instantly, holding his hands in front of him. "Thea," he says quietly, and there's something familiar in the way he says her name, "I'm not going to hurt you."

From the tilt of his head and the better lighting, she can make out the mask and his partially obscured eyes. When she sees them, she's not afraid of him anymore; he as gentle eyes, she thinks. But that could be the drugs talking, and Helena must know a good drug guy, because they're _awesome_. But his voice is layered in sincerity. Then she remembers what he said to Helena, about protecting the Queen family, and the trust Felicity seems to place in him.

If he's good enough for her, he's good enough for Thea. Felicity can spot good men a mile away; after all, she did give Oliver the benefit of the doubt. "I'm sorry," she says quietly to him, after a long moment. She shakes her head in disgust with herself, even though it makes her head swim. "I know better. It's just... it's the drugs, it's the day, it's..."

He doesn't let her ramble on the way she's willing to, probably a side-effect of spending so much time with Felicity. "Hey," he says quietly. "I'll get you home, and Helena will never bother you again." The voice holds a bit of a promise, allays some fears she didn't know she had. "You're safe now. I promise. But we need to leave—_now_."

She laughs, ignoring the way it makes her feel nauseous. "Wow, the heroic thing isn't just an act for you, is it? Do you even _know_ how cheesy you sound?"

He holds a gloved hand out to her this time, and she hesitates, but does take the offer. "Shut up, Speedy," he says, the nickname sounding odd in his voice. She can only assume he learned the nickname from Felicity, but she does admit it sounds a _little_ familiar. Wow, those drugs are working overtime. He pulls her through the series of corridors, slower this time, catching her every time she wobbles.

When they finally see moonlight, she looks up at him and says the closest thing she'll give him to a display of gratitude: "I'm not kidding, you know. You are really heroic. But I don't think you know that yet."


	18. Mutiny

**Title: Mutiny**  
** Prompt: #23 - "You're cut off."**  
** Episode tag: Post-02.13 "Heir to the Demon"**  
** Word Count: 853**  
** Summary: When the last tether is broken, the ship can finally sail free.**  
**Characters: Moira Queen, Oliver Queen**

**Notes:** This is probably the most heart-wrenching piece in the series. While I didn't fall apart writing it (like I usually do in emotional scenes), it tore me up to write this. Still, I think it will probably happen at some point; I'm just writing the inevitable.

The Latin phrase in this story should have a nice clarification, but if any questions arise, please don't hesitate to ask.

Also, virtual hugs and/or cookies to anyone who can name either of the two references in this story. :)

* * *

Moira Queen did not become the CEO of a global conglomerate by being sweet and kind. No, she is known as ruthless, underhanded, and cold in the business world—something of which she is very proud. It is a fair description, too; during her short tenure as head of Queen Consolidated, she singlehandedly controlled most of the monetary transactions in Starling City. She is a woman who can make or break a company, and she is still looked upon with that same fear and awe, even after leaving her legacy to her son. It certainly doesn't hurt her image that prison became part of the equation.

As such, she is not a woman who takes dissent lightly. In the business world, shareholder dissent can be the beginning of the end of even a major corporation—if the situation is not remedied with enough haste. Business empires rise and fall by the happiness of one's stockholders, and that is easily bought and sold. Raise the stock dividends a dollar per share, split stock—or, sometimes both—and, suddenly, all is well again.

While dissent can easily be cured, mutiny is a far more serious matter.

Mutiny isn't just one or two dissatisfied shareholders or a poor money manager. No, mutiny is the point at which the _shareholders_—men and women built from wealth who know nothing of work—sell the corporation you and your departed spouse gave your lives to, as if it's worth nothing more than the profits they receive every quarter.

Mutiny can't be allowed without consequence.

It's for precisely this reason that Moira calls her son into her late husband's study that afternoon. He's late, as usual, but at least this time she knows it's because his meeting at the office ran late—a perfectly plausible excuse that still subtly serves to remind her that Oliver no longer feels the need to answer her. Despite that, she's grateful that he at least has the decency to let her know beforehand now when there's a delay.

Even if it results in a rather awkward conversation with the executive assistant who, in Moira's opinion, is to blame for the entire situation. She's spent many days wishing Felicity Smoak—a _nobody_ who dares interfere with the Queen family—was never born, and now spends her nights planning vengeance against the little girl who dared spark a mutiny in something much more precious than business.

No, she dared interfere with Moira's children, and she _will_ have retribution. _Nemo me impune lacessit_, indeed. It's a phrase she never understood before, but now she most certainly does. _No one offends me with impunity_.

When he does deign fit to grace her with his presence, he appears at the door of the study. She sees the expression on his face, and she absolutely _despises_ it. She hates that the likes of Felicity Smoak brought them to this—pretending to be a happy family for the sake of Thea. Thea, who belongs to Malcom and not Robert.

"What do you want?" Oliver asks her, his voice devoid of all emotion. It breaks her heart to hear him sound so cold, but here there is no audience for which he should pretend. She reminds herself that _this_ is the illusion, and that this is the true, frightening reality. They are a family of liars, a family of traitors, but none are more equipped to deal with this than Moira. She knows precisely how to diffuse a mutiny.

Nevertheless, she keeps her composure. "I have something I'd like to discuss with you," she says stiffly, as if this is just another business meeting and emotions aren't part of the equation. She nods her head ever so slightly before she continues, "It's of the same nature as our last discussion." Something flashes through his eyes in recognition, but he still stays silent.

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself before she says the words that tear her heart out: "I've altered some of my financial arrangements recently. I wanted to tell you myself." She's wrong; she can't say what she intended, and she stops quickly, before the sadness can threaten to overthrow her. Doubt eats away at her, but then she remembers that this is _his_ fault, that it's all just business now.

"Tell me what?" Oliver demands, his tone almost angry.

The prompt is enough to spur her into action again. "You're cut off," she states flatly, forcing the words out in a rush. She takes a deep breath, reorganizes her thoughts and tries again. "Oliver, I—"

He cuts her off abruptly, turning on his heel to leave the room. "It's fine," he assures her, but the anger makes his voice tremble. "I said that we were done—now it's just like you were never my mother at all." Then, before she can protest, he has left the room, and it's just like he never walked into her office at all.

She keeps her composure just long enough for him to leave, and then she allows only a few tears to fall before she manages to wear the mask again.


	19. Safe

**Title: Safe**  
** Prompt: #21 - "I'm not going to make it."**  
**Characters: Quentin Lance, Sara Lance, Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak**  
** Episode Tag: Post-02.14 "Time of Death," after "Protective"**  
** Word Count: 1456**  
** Summary: Even injured, he knows she'll always be safe.**

**Notes:** Oh, my God, the angst-fest that is this one. :) I don't know why this happened, but it did. I hope it turned out okay, but it really isn't my normal writing style. Anyhow, reviews are loved and appreciated, so let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!

* * *

Officer Quentin Lance hears the gunshot go off, and dread instantly claws at his gut. It changes from dread to panic, however, when he sees the person the papers call the Black Canary drop to the ground. An arrow instantly follows, ending the gunfire, but by that point, it's far too late in Lance's opinion. She's already down, and it doesn't look good. He breaks into a run, toward the two masked figures who are the _real_ heroes in the city.

The Arrow is already crouching next to her, saying her name. Lance isn't far behind, dropping to the ground on her other side. "Sara?" he asks, looking at the puddle of blood forming underneath her. The wound is through her left shoulder, blood blossoming through the black fabric that looks like it's very near her heart—if not in it. The Arrow is already starting to apply pressure, but blood pours out between his fingers, striking an odd contrast against the green leather of his gloves. He's barking something into the comm at his ear, probably to Felicity, but Lance isn't paying much attention to it.

Sara chuckles, but the sound is strangled. "Survived all that time on the island," she whispers, "only to die here." She seems oddly at peace with the possibility of dying, and Lance can feel the desperation start to kick in. They _have_ to save her—he can't lose his daughter again. Sara isn't paying attention to her father, though, and she grimaces before reaching up with her left arm and throwing it around the Arrow's neck. She pulls him toward her with surprising strength and puts her lips to his for a brief moment before he pulls away. Lance thinks it odd, since she's with Oliver Queen these days, but somewhere in his mind he admits he'd rather see her with him than Oliver.

"You're going to be fine," he assures her, his voice sounding hollow in a way that has nothing to do with the synthesizer. Lance doesn't think he believes it, though.

"I'm not going to make it," she says, again too calm for the implication she's making. "I know that and you know that. There's no point in pretending—not after we've been through so much together." She tilts her head to the side, finally noticing her father. She gives him that charming brave smile she's perfected in the past six years. "I'm sorry you had to be here for this, Dad," she says quietly, wincing in pain. "I didn't want you to see this." She takes his hand in hers, trying to convince him that she's fine—of something they both know to be a lie.

"It's okay, baby," he says to her quietly. "You'll be good as new in no time—I promise." He looks at the Arrow, and now they're partners in this. "We're going to save her, right?" he asks quietly, so that Sara can't hear.

"I'm at least going to try," comes the response, as he pulls her up into his arms.

* * *

"You can take off the hood now," the Arrow says to Lance from a distance. His voice is still synthesized, but at least the air is no longer cold and he doesn't have to be blindfolded any longer.

When he removes the black bag from his head, he's surprised by his surroundings. He always thought they were working out of some abandoned building, sure, but he expected it to be a shoddy operation—at best. Instead, he sees a myriad of combat practice equipment, an impressive display of arrows. There's a glass case where the Arrow's distinctive attire goes when not in use, and then there's the computer systems. He's impressed; they have a better setup than the more technologically advanced departments at SCPD. Three top-notch computers sit on a desk in the middle of what he now recognizes to be the "lair" Felicity spoke of before.

Behind the impressive set of computers, the Arrow sets Sara on the metal gurney, Felicity hovering behind them, already starting to apply pressure to the wound with a white towel. "This doesn't look good," the tech whiz says to the Arrow. "Worse than either of mine, anyway." She lifts the towel up, eyeing the wound more thoroughly. "This looks a lot like the gunshot wound Moira Queen gave you last year, and I think you nearly died twice during that whole ordeal." She leans over her shoulder at Lance, her concern written all over her face. "I'm sorry, Detective," she says, her expression grim for a change. "We're trying, but I'm not sure if this is going to have Disney ending or not."

Lance seizes the opportunity to talk about something else. Though he knows they've been working together for quite some time, he's surprised to realize that she's been helping him so long. He voices the thought that occurs to him: "They lost that blood sample. That was you, wasn't it?" He asks the question slowly, so that he doesn't have to think about the knives and needles going into his daughter.

Felicity seems to find that amusing. "Your Cybersecurity division was due for an overhaul that it never received—and that was two years ago," she explains, sounding modest despite her words. "_If_ I hacked into your servers and... say, ordered that sample destroyed, it would have been pretty easy." Lance moves closer, all the while shaking his head. He never quite expects the words that come out of her mouth, and she surprises him by the admission of guilt. Before he can speak again, she points toward her computer chair and says, "Have a seat before you fall down, Detective. We're going to be here a while."

He does as she asks, and he watches the two move around Sara to press down his panic—and other fatherly emotions. Something in his posture suggests that the Arrow is at war with himself, and Lance isn't the only one to come to that conclusion. Felicity puts her free hand on his bicep before saying, "I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong. It's not your fault. This is what happens, and you know that. We all go out there knowing the risks, and every one of us has nearly paid the price. We've all been shot, and we've all—" She drops the phrase, but Lance knows how she's going to end it. _We've all killed before._

Before any other words can be spoken, the heart monitor goes into overdrive, indicating Sara's heart has stopped. All Lance can do is rise from his seat, standing helplessly. "Stay there!" Felicity commands him abruptly, and the Arrow is already pulling around an ancient, hopeless defibrillator. He presses the paddles against her, but the charge doesn't go through.

Panicked and frustrated, his voice sounds even more menacing, especially as he demands, "_Felicity!_"

Lance doesn't quite understand what it is he thinks she can do, but she's already at the machine with a screwdriver in hand. "You know," she says as she tears off the front panel, sounding calm other than her high-pitched voice, "there's no need to shout. How about _I_ stand over there yelling unhelpfully, and _you_ try to rewire a defibrillator?" He doesn't have time to respond to her question before she says, "Try again."

The charge fires this time, and the heart monitor starts beeping normally again. The Vigilante's back is to Lance, but apparently Felicity sees something in his expression that bothers her, judging by the way her face falls. She walks up to him and takes his hand in hers, the gesture too intimate for friends. For not the first time, Lance is surprised by how freely she interacts with a man who gives half the people in the city nightmares. "Hey," she says quietly, "she's going to be okay. You were shot like this and _you_ pulled through." The corners of her mouth turn up. "And we both know Sara's a whole lot tougher than you are."

He mutters a quick affirmation of thanks before she moves back toward Lance, and takes mercy on him, too, by saying, "She's fine now, Detective. She's safe, and we're going to keep her that way."

She starts to continue, but the Arrow walks up behind her, putting a hand to her shoulder. "Thank you, Felicity," he repeats quietly, with presumably different meaning, betraying more fondness for the girl than Lance would think him capable of. Before she can respond, he's already moving away, back toward the training areas.

Lance sits back down in the chair, keeping vigil near his daughter, while Felicity moves toward the training area, watching the Arrow from a close distance. His daughter is safe now, and that's all that matters.


	20. Defeat

**Title: Defeat**  
** Prompt: #19 - "Why won't you believe me?"**  
**Characters: Sara Lance, Oliver Queen**  
** Episode Tag: Post-02.14 "Time of Death"**  
** Word Count: 810**  
** Summary: The weapons that deal the most damage don't leave scars.**

_**First of all, thank each and every one of you-100 reviews and climbing on this! Thank you all so much for your support of this story. It means a lot! :)**_As a special reward for your awesomeness, a new chapter in _Talkative_ should be up today. :) And, if I have a chance to write anything else, you'll get it, too. :P

**Notes:** Ugh, this one-shot. I have absolutely no opinions on this because I don't really like it, honestly, but I think it needed to be done because of what I did in the next one. Anyhow, thanks for reading, and if you're feeling generous enough to ease a writer's insecurities, a review would be most appreciated. Even if you want to tell me how bad I messed up. :D

* * *

She watches his face flicker through multiple emotions before disbelief finally wears through, and he makes the obvious conclusion from her words: "You're breaking up with me." It isn't a question, and she can hear the hurt and betrayal in that phrase.

Sara sighs, long since regretting her decision. It's hurting him, yes, but nowhere near as much as it her. She desperately wants to hang onto him because he's all she knows—all that's _real_—anymore, but she still knows that letting him go is the right decision. Sara is a desperate fighter who never admits defeat, but this time, she has to raise the white flag. "Yeah," she agrees, "I am." Her throat constricts, and she can't force anything else out—not without crying, and Sara does _not_ cry. Not anymore.

Oliver smiles in disbelief, like this is all a huge joke, before he sobers when he realizes that this is real. It finally falls when he asks, "Do I get to know _why_, at least?"

Why is an interesting reason. Sara never thought she'd see the day when she'd end things with Oliver Queen over something he _hasn't_ done, and it's hard for her to voice it without sounding like a lovesick teenager—even to herself. Finally, though, she takes a deep breath and says, "Because you're not in love with me anymore." He opens his mouth to say something, but she holds a hand up. "I know you can't see it yet, but _I_ do, and I'm not going to get in the way. She's too good for that, Ollie."

"Sara..." he says, drawing the word out in a way that only he can. "Sara, I _swear_ to you, I'm not deceiving you."

"I know," she replies tersely. "I know you don't _think_ you are. That's okay, though. I _like_ her, Ollie. She's good for you—but you just don't know it yet. But the point is, I'm not going to get in the way of someone who loves you _that_ much—enough to watch you be with me and stand by you anyway."

He looks like he's in absolute anguish, the same expression he had after the long overdue conversation with Laurel at that awkward family dinner. "Sara, I _swear_ to you, I'm _not_ cheating on you," he says, and she knows his tone is sincere. "I know I screwed things up with Laurel. I did. And I admit that now. But I've learned my lesson." He sighs, turning away from her for a moment before turning back. "I like that I don't have to lie to you. I like that we don't have to discuss the island. I think that we can make this work." He sighs, his face showing his absolute frustration with her. "Why won't you believe me?"

Sara laughs lightly at the situation because he probably doesn't notice the fact that he says he likes things about their relationship—not that he _loves_ her. She then sighs heavily because he's not. _Listening_. To her. "_Oliver_," she says sharply, catching his attention for probably the first time in the conversation. She puts her hands on his shoulders and he looks at her—_really_ looks at her, his eyes boring into hers. "I _know_. I never accused you of cheating—because you're not. I know that, alright? But I'm not _blind_, and I can see the way you _look_ at her—_and_ the way she looks at _you_." She sighs deeply, bracing herself to say the most difficult words she's ever uttered. "And, you know what? She's good for you. Amazing, even. I like her, I trust her, and if there was _anyone_ I'd let steal you away from me, it would be her. But she's not going to do that—because, unlike most of the girls you've dated, she has _morals_—and I'm not going to give her the opportunity. I'm _letting you go_."

A tear leaks out of the corner of her eye without her permission, and she wipes it away angrily. "And it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do," she whispers quietly, already walking away from him.

And it's true; Sara has lost so much, and so little is familiar to her anymore. But she can't watch this unfold, day after day, choking on the sexual tension in the air and pretending that everything is fine. Because it isn't. Even as he calls her name behind her, follows her out of the lair, she ignores him. She can't _do_ this anymore. Instead, Sara is doing the one thing she said she'd never do: she's throwing in the towel. She's giving up, she's calling it quits. She will _not_ vie for his attention anymore because she doesn't fight losing battles.

Deep down inside, she knows that if she does compete, she'll most certainly lose against the likes of Felicity Smoak.


	21. Perfect

**Title: Perfect**  
** Prompt: #15 - "Are you drunk?"**  
**Characters: Laurel Lance, Sara Lance**  
** Episode Tag: Post-02.16 "Suicide Squad"**  
** Word Count: 1117**  
** Summary: For every imperfect moment, there is perfection lurking behind the scenes.**

**Notes:** I actually wrote this before "Defeat," and it inspired me to write that one. Fun fact of the day. :P I'm not exactly sure what you'll think of this one, but it actually turned out very differently from what I was trying to write. Reviews are awesome, but so are readers. :) Thanks for taking the time to check in on this!

* * *

When Laurel enters into her apartment that night, she expects to put on some soft music and enjoy a good book. The issues she's been having with her mother and father have been taxing, but they've been _nothing_ compared to working out her problems with Sara. Thankfully, that's all behind her now; they've reconciled, and she thinks it might be for the better. Their relationship has seemed to evolve since then.

Despite that, she's still _very_ surprised when she opens her front door to see Sara sitting in her living area, on the red sofa. She looks terrible honestly; she's been out in the torrential rain and her clothes are wet, her hair falls in tangled waves, and the look on her face is tired, disillusioned, and horribly upset. In her hand is a once-full bottle of vodka that she must have brought with her, as it's not really Laurel's style. It looks as though it's almost empty, though, the drinking completely unlike Sara.

"Are you _drunk?_" Laurel asks her sister, surprised enough to let her first thoughts fly out of her mouth. Then, she winces before thinking about the situation and trying again. "And how did you get in here? The door was locked." She asks knowing she won't get a full answer, but she's long since wanting to know where her sister's new skill set comes from. Picking locks is now a specialty of hers, and if Sara wasn't her sister, it would probably bother Laurel more than it already does.

Sara laughs as if something she's said is funny, but sobers quickly—from the laughter, at least, but she still seems more than a little drunk. "The answers are 'not yet' and 'the fire escape,' in that order." She takes another long pull from the bottle before adding, "I didn't think you'd mind."

"No, of course not," Laurel says honestly. "You know you're always welcome here." She drops her things on the nearest table and sits down next to her obviously distraught sister. "So," she says with a partial smile, "do you want to talk about whatever has you so upset, or do you just want to sit here and drink your liver into early cirrhosis?"

"I know you think about Oliver a lot," Sara admits, "but do you ever _drink_ about him?" She chuckles at her own poor joke, showing she's far closer to drunk than she previously indicated. Finally, she adds, "What I mean is, when you drank, did you ever waste a bottle, just for him?"

Laurel chuckles at that. "Oh, of course," she agrees. "You know as well as I do that there's a lot of history there—history that we'd sometimes rather forget." She frowns. "But that's not important. I thought you and Oliver were happy."

Sara sighs. "We were, but we broke up. It's a long story, and I don't want to burden you with my problems." She doesn't say anything more, instead choosing to stare out at the city below. After a long moment, she finally adds, "With the issues with Mom and Dad and the job search, I think you have enough on your plate."

Laurel's having a difficult time putting it all together; she thought the two were happy, and she is over her initial shock about the relationship. She tries very hard to broach the topic carefully. "You're my sister, Sara—you can talk to me about anything. You've been there for me thought all my problems, and now it's time for me to help you." She thinks on it a little longer before she dares ask the question bluntly: "Wait, did Oliver break up with _you?_"

Sara shakes her head, eyes glistening with what looks suspiciously like unshed tears. "No," she answers quietly. "_I_ broke up with _him_."

Laurel doesn't quite get the picture her sister is painting. "Wait," she says, throwing a hand up, "if you're upset about this, then why did you leave him? Isn't that generally the other way around?"

Sara laughs again, but the sound is humorless. "Because he's Oliver," is her elaborate explanation, "and things are never that simple with him—you know that." She finally looks at Laurel. "He's in love with someone else." Before Laurel can even jump to any wrong conclusions, Sara's already countering them. "He's either too stubborn or too afraid to admit it, though. But I see no reason to prolong the inevitable. He loves her, not me, and I'm okay with that."

Before Laurel can ask, Sara continues, "It's funny, but we've both been everything to Oliver at one point or another. When he was Oliver Queen, irresponsible billionaire, you were precisely what he needed. You were focused, driven, and so _determined_. I think Ollie needed to see success like yours in action. He and I botched that for you, and I'm sorry about that, but so did the boat's sinking. And, on the island, _I_ was the person he needed. We were both damaged and cynical, and we took comfort in the fact that we knew each other before everything became so absolutely hellish.

"But Ollie's not the same guy he was before, and he's not on the island anymore. He's responsible, willing to make a difference—unafraid to do what he thinks is right. And neither of us are the girl that he needs for the man he's become. We're still clinging to Ollie because he's so familiar, but we should remember that he's not what we need anymore, either."

Laurel can't help her curiosity, or the question that flies out of her mouth. Oliver said he'd loved her half his life, and she reciprocated that thought; she still can't fathom the idea of him loving someone else. "Who's the girl, then?" When Sara doesn't immediately answer, she says, "Please tell me she's at least someone good."

Sara laughs, and this time the mirth is genuine. "Felicity Smoak," she says, drawing the name out. At Laurel's blank expression, she adds, "You know, blonde? Glasses? Adorably awkward?"

Laurel balks at the description when she puts the name to a face. "You mean his _secretary_," she replies, her tone scathing. It hurts her that such a woman could be the object of his affection these days.

Sara points a finger at her, eyes narrowing in warning. "Executive assistant," she corrects sharply. "And you better not be doing that thing where you tear her down. She's honest, loyal to a fault, and she's _exactly_ the woman he needs now." She takes another pull from the vodka bottle, this one shorter than the last. "He's not ready for her yet, but, when he is, I'm not going to stand in her way."


	22. Liability

**Title: Liability**  
** Prompt: #04 - "That doesn't make any sense."**  
** Episode Tag: Post-02.16 "Suicide Squad," post-"Defeat," post-"Protective"**  
** Word Count: 1345**  
** Summary: One man's liability is another man's asset.**

**Notes:** My accounting nerd came out in the summary for this, but I'm not sorry. ;D Technically speaking, from an accounting standpoint, it's true. Just sayin'. More importantly, this is one of my favorites, I think. Seriously, I'm usually not good a writing Diggle (which is why I haven't thus far), but I felt like I couldn't leave him out any longer. I think he turned out okay. It is a bit angsty, but I wanted to add in something a little facetious to lighten the gradually increasing intensity of this series. But, that's just my opinion; I'd rather have yours. That can be sent in the form of a review! ;) Tell me what you liked, didn't like, questions, comments—anything. :) I'd like to hear from you, but, either way, thanks for reading!

**Also, I'm rushing to put this up because I have a ton of homework due tomorrow that will probably take me all night. I haven't responded to any reviews or PMs since last night, but I promise that's the first thing on the agenda as soon as I get done! Don't write me off just yet! :P**

* * *

Oliver doesn't expect the scene when he walks into their base. He expects to find the situation he normally stumbles onto: Felicity at her computers doing something he's not smart enough to comprehend, Digg and Sara in the training area sparring with no holds bared, and Roy off to the sidelines watching awkwardly because he doesn't quite fit in yet. It's the routine, and, while working with Sara is a little awkward since the break-up, there's really be no deviation from the normal since they brought Roy on board.

What he sees, however, deviates from his idea of reality. While Digg and Roy are working on some pretty impressive hand-to-hand combat as expected, he doesn't expect to see Felicity and Sara on the other side of the base, with the training dummies. Sara is apparently showing her some sort of skill, and Felicity is nodding intently, focused on whatever it is Sara's saying. She's wearing something that looks suspiciously like athletic wear, and he does _not_ like the look of this situation.

This isn't the first time he's seen her in athletic gear, attempting to practice with the dummies. But that doesn't mean Oliver _likes_ it. On the contrary, he's very unhappy about this entire turn of events. He's tried to indicate this to her several times, not wanting to start a fight, but she's just not taking the hint and he can't let it go this time. Felicity doesn't quite see that what makes her incredible—what makes her _better_ than the rest of them—is that she gets involved with her brain and her computers, not fists and arrows.

Usually, he goes toward the guys first, often stopping to say hello to Felicity, but today he goes straight toward the girls. Felicity's back is to him, so he takes advantage of the position. "What are you doing?" he calls from behind her, and all motion in what Felicity calls the "lair" completely stops. Sara is already getting that defensive set to her mouth, and Digg is headed Oliver's way for damage control, Roy lagging along behind.

Felicity, however, jumps about a foot in the air, turning toward him with that guilty look on her face. He hasn't seen her this upset since—no, he won't even think about the night she saved his life. "I was just..." she starts, using her hands to elaborate, but then shakes her head, hands falling to the side. "Nothing." She moves away from the area and moves back toward her computers as if nothing has happened.

Unfortunately for her, though, she has to go through Oliver to get there, and he grabs her arm as she passes by, turning her to him. "You were just what?" he tries again, this time searching her eyes for information. But Felicity has known him too long and she knows this trick, so she focuses on her tennis shoes instead.

Behind him, he is faintly aware of Roy muttering to Digg, "Should we do something?"

"Trust me, Roy," Digg responds just as quietly, "Felicity can handle herself, especially where Oliver is concerned." Oliver's male pride wants him to interject that it's because he _lets_ her, but he knows that's just a lie. Diggle is right—not that it surprises anyone these days. Digg is almost _always_ right, even though Oliver doesn't always like to admit it.

Felicity gnaws at her bottom lip, then seems to chew on her own tongue for a minute before finally sighing. "Sara offered to show me a few tips. How to defend myself. That sort of thing. I just thought it would come in handy, you know, because the crime rate in Starling City is doubling and—"

Oliver knows the beginning of one of her rambles when he hears it. "Felicity," he says, jolting her out of hurried-speech mode, reminding her of the conversation at hand.

She shakes her head immediately. "Thank you for that," she says. Then he sees the onslaught that's coming as she squares her shoulders, preparing to tell him something she knows he's not going to like. "I'm tired of being the liability," she says to him quickly. He immediately opens his mouth do defend her, but she holds up a hand. He knows that look, too, and he knows better than to try and interrupt her when she has _that_ look. "I am constantly in trouble I can't get out of, I am always getting you into dangerous situations, and I don't want to be the reason you get hurt anymore."

When he's sure she's finished, he says, "Felicity, you are _not_ a liability to this team. And you don't have to learn how to fight—to become someone you're not. We can protect you." Somehow, those words don't seem to be enough, so he tries again. "_I_ can protect you."

She gapes at him for a minute, before finally deciding to say, "That doesn't make any sense." It's quiet, controlled, but Oliver can hear the storm brewing underneath. "You don't think I need to learn how to fight?" she asks, incredulous, her voice rising in volume. "You don't think I'm a _liability?_ What about when I confronted the Dodger? What about when I went into that illegal casino? And the Dollmaker—you think a few self-defense classes wouldn't have helped me then? Or when the Count kidnapped me?" She pauses. "And what about that thing with Rowland? I got shot! And, Oliver, I nearly got you _killed!_" She sounds more strangled than he's ever heard her, voice dangerously close to tears on that one word. "I can't go out in the field knowing I'm going to get someone hurt!"

He sees it then: the fear, the doubt, the absolute terror in her expression. He tells himself that's why he places his hand on her shoulder. "I remember you saving my life during the Rowland thing," he says quietly, thinking of how his screw up cost Felicity a part of her soul. "And I remember you being brave enough to serve yourself up on a silver platter for a for a serial killer so that we could stop him." It dawns on him that she really doesn't see what an asset she is, how _brave_ she is. He's never met anyone so fierce, so tenacious, so... _good_. Any tarnish on her sterling reputation has been because of him, and he doesn't like that.

Faintly, he registers Roy's question of, "What's the Rowland thing?"

Diggle quietly replies, "Tell you later."

He ignores the side conversation, focusing solely on Felicity as she points out, "The only reason you needed me to save your life on the Rowland thing is because _I_ put you in danger in the first place." She pauses before she says the words that win her the argument. "Oliver, I _need_ to do this."

Though he doesn't agree, doesn't want her to do this, he knows the look on her face. She's determined now, and that means she's going to learn how to fight—with or without him. So really, there's no choice, and he resigns himself. "Fine. I won't try to stop you, Felicity," he starts tersely, but then breaks into a smile that throws her into suspicion, "but you're too stubborn for that anyway."

She crosses her arms, falling into the teasing tone of the banter. "I have to be," she retorts, "in order to get through that thick skull of yours." She brushes past him this time, and this time he lets her. "Now go hit something or shoot something or, if you're feeling very generous, you can do the salmon ladder while I look for information on the new target." She blushes as she realizes the implications of what she said (he vaguely remembers something about her liking to watch him do that), and it only darkens when he winks at her, heading toward the salmon ladder.

Quietly, so low he probably thinks Oliver can't hear it, Roy says to Diggle, "Oh, Thea called this a mile away—those two are _crazy_ about each other."


	23. Open

**Title: Open**  
** Prompt: #22 - "Tell me the truth."**  
** Episode Tag: Post-02.12 "Tremors," pre-2.17 "Bird of Prey" (grr, how that episode ruined my plans!)**  
** Word Count: 1173**  
** Summary: Secrets will eventually eat away at everything a person holds dear.**

**Notes:** Not sure about this one. This is somewhat like "Thieves;" I'm way out of my element with this drabble. Although it's the idea I've had with this prompt since the very beginning, it ended a little differently than I'd planned. In fact, I'm pretty sure the ending will make a few of you mad, but, well, I'm trying to write a follow-up, but it's not going well. Hopefully I'm not kicked out of the fandom for it. ;) As an apology, I'm posting a one-shot in Talkative that might make you laugh a little. As always, I'd love to hear your feedback if you have the time to spare. If not, well, thanks for just being here.

* * *

Ever since his miraculous return from the island, she's been watching him, following him. He's not the same person he was before the whole _Castaway_ experience, and that concerns her. He just _won't let her in_, and all she wants is to be there for him, to help ease some of that pain in his eyes. Because, you know, she _loves_ him, and that's what you're supposed to do when you love someone.

That's why she confronts him at Verdant, in his office. She knows he's just come from the super-secret basement he keeps on lockdown (yet another thing she _doesn't_ understand). She's watched him enter it before, even memorized the codes, but every _single_ time she goes to enter it, it's different. Whatever secrets he's keeping down there, they're huge and she's tired of letting him just _hide_ them.

She actually knocks on the door this time, entering before he can give her permission. The instant he lays eyes on her, that lazy, fake smile falls across his face. She's beginning to hate it; everyone knows it's fake, but he _still_ insists on pretending. "Thea?" he says, genuine surprise in his voice. Then, finally, "Hey, Speedy."

Thea rolls her eyes at the nickname she only pretends to hate and never has been able to shake (much to her chagrin). "Just thought I'd come here while you were _actually_ working," she teases pleasantly as she falls into one of the chairs before his desk. "I've always wondered what that looks like."

Oliver smiles, but it slowly falls from his face as he studies her expression. It's clear he doesn't quite buy the story, but his expression is _real_, for a change, so she doesn't mind. He sighs and focuses all his attention on her, pushing the papers aside as his eyes do that intense thing. "What's wrong, Thea?" he asks, suddenly serious.

She huffs, preparing herself to give the speech she's been writing in her head for months. "Look, Ollie," she begins. It's a little too confrontational, and she can see his shoulders stiffen in response, bracing for the onslaught of words. She tries again, a little more gently, "Look Ollie, I know you've been through a lot in the past few years. I've already said I'm not going to ask you about the island anymore, and I'm not. But I _would_ like to know why you spend so much time in the basement of this place.

Everything in his body language changes on the word "basement." His muscles tense, he sits up straighter, and his jaw tightens. His expression is unreadable for the smallest of moments, and Thea can see something in it that she doesn't expect from her brother. Something about his expression shows the _real_ Oliver Queen and the man he's become.

And it _scares_ her.

But then, it's gone, and he's smiling like the charming playboy the world expects him to be, blue eyes sparkling playfully. Thea knows better this time; the thread has unraveled, and now she's going to pull on it until it has come loose. "What, the _basement?_" he asks, as though she's the one being ridiculous, and every word out of his mouth _isn't_ dripping with lies. "That's where all the security features are. Everything is still glitchy, so I've been supervising while Felicity fixes it all."

The name makes her burn worse, rage swimming all through her. Felicity, his assistant from work, who follows him around like every other lovesick bimbo in the world. She's known better, though, since the first time she met her, at that family dinner when Thea had been so rude to her. She remembers how she just cut her eyes to the side—to glance at Oliver—for only a second, then just simply bit her lip. She could have spoken up and said to Thea all the things she deserved to be called, but she didn't. With one glance at Oliver Queen, she cemented her loyalty, showed that she respected his family enough to bite her tongue. At that moment, Thea only knew that she liked the quirky blonde, and that she wanted to know more about her.

Thea's done her research now, and she knows that Felicity Smoak graduated with honors from _MIT_ with a Master's in Computer Science, so she's _nobody's_ fool. Through her community service at CNRI—and her visits to the police station because of that—she was able to learn that Felicity was questioned during that whole let's-blow-up-the-Glades master plan for possible interaction with the Vigilante. It also doesn't escape her notice that, after the guy stops killing everyone, he puts three arrows in a guy who _threatens_ her. That might just be a _little_ excessive—a little _personal_, if you ask her.

Not that she and Felicity _aren't_ friends, because they are. Thea admits that she's a great person to spend time with—and she _knows_ that. Thea likes the charming, talkative woman whose skills aren't being utilized as an EA. Not to mention, she gets a kick out of watching her brother and Felicity interact. She looks at him like he's the most amazing person in the world, while _he_ looks at _her_ like she's the stars, the moon, and the sun. And the openness, the pure _honesty_ that flows from her rambling mouth is a breath of fresh air, compared to always covert and never honest Queen family. She's a good influence for Thea and Oliver both.

But the point is, Thea is very certain that Oliver's assistant is in bed with some very bad people, and the last person she wants the newly reformed Oliver involved with is _the Vigilante_.

Thea huffs as she crosses her arms, not hesitating to call his particular brand of bullshit. "Tell me the truth," she demands, but then realizes she's encroaching upon hostile territory again. She winces before taking a deep breath and trying again. "Tell me the truth," she asks, this time much gentler, "or don't tell me anything at all. But don't _lie_ to me, Oliver! Mom's not who we thought she was, Roy's been acting just... _weird_, and now _you're_ lying to me. I can't take much _more of this!_" By the end, she's yelling loud enough to mask the sound of the techno music blaring from the club floor.

Oliver wipes a hand over his face, his expression grim for a moment. "Fine," he says, his tone tired and... _dark_. It sends a shiver down Thea's spine. "You want to know what I've been hiding?" he asks her, the darkness fading from his voice. He rises and moves toward the basement entrance, typing the keycode of the moment into the box. "Go ahead. I won't lie to you anymore, Thea." His eyes meet hers, and the pain in them is endless and ancient. "It destroys me to deceive you. But you should know it was always so that I could keep you safe."

And now, the door—the mysterious door that hides all of her brother's secrets—is open.


	24. Family

**Title: Family**  
** Prompt: #16 - "Who do you think you are?"**  
** Episode Tag: post-02.16 "Suicide Squad," post-"Perfect" **  
** Word Count: 826**  
** Summary: What is the distinction between friends and family?  
**

**Notes:** I'm a little headach-y and tired, but I thought I'd post this before I skip off for Motrin and a nap to end all naps. :P If you'd be so kind, reviews make my day, but if you're shy, I get that, too. Thanks for reading! :)

Also, I decided to list my tumblr page publicly on my profile, so please feel free to check out all the things that roll around in my brain. :P

* * *

Since Sara's return to Starling City, Laurel has become acquainted with the idea of her sister dropping in for absolutely no reason, and usually without using the front door. Because of that, she's not really surprised when she returns to the door of her apartment and hears movement from the inside. She enters as normally as possible—still wary of an unwelcome intruder—but she's surprised when the first person she sees isn't Sara. She looks as though she's meant to be there, as non-threatening as one can be when wearing a wicked biker jacket and being about the same age as Thea, especially when she's all attitude and wears her hair _that_ short. She walks through the apartment as if she owns it, and that rubs Laurel a little raw.

She clears her throat, and the girl stops, mid-step. "Who do you think _you_ are?" Laurel demands, hand on her hip. She has the decency to look a little sheepish—as she should—and something about her looks oddly familiar...

It clicks when Sara comes around the corner, from the living area. "Sorry, Laurel," she says, not looking very sorry at all. That she says it with a smile only emphasizes that point. "This is my friend Sin—more of a little sister, actually." Something passes between the two that indicates a shared joke. "Sin, this is Laurel, my older sister."

Sin does a little shrug, like she's uncomfortable but trying to play it cool. "Sorry about crashing your place," she replies, sounding street savvy and used to the kind of life that Thea's hoodlum, Roy, lives. "Sara said it was cool for me to hang around." There's an awkward pause before she adds, "I was just looking for the bathroom."

Laurel bites down on every angry retort she can thinks of, trying to keep calm for Sara's sake. This girl is obviously important to her, but that doesn't mean she has the right to be so impertinent. Sara flashes her a you-better-sell-this-now look, and so Laurel puts on her best fake smile before assuring her guest, "No, that's fine. I was just a little surprised—Sara doesn't usually bring company. And the bathroom's just down the hall, to your left." Sin takes the hint and heads in that direction, leaving Laurel to round on her sister.

"Do you want to tell me what that was?" she demands, careful to keep her voice down so that Sin won't hear. "Why are you bringing random people here now?" She thought Sara _respected_ her more than that, and she doesn't quite appreciate that someone of dubious background knows where she lives now.

Sara shakes her head, frowning more than usual. "Sin's not just anyone," she says, her tone betraying sincerity and fondness. "She's a friend, actually. She's been helping me since I got into the city, and, not that she'll tell you, but she really doesn't have anywhere else to go." She pauses, giving Laurel her best puppy-dog eyes, even though Laurel can tell she's not really trying to lay on the guilt—that's part of Sara's charm. "She's a lot like me, like how I was when I got back into the city. I couldn't stand to see her alone like that." Though it sounds like the truth, Laurel knows Sara enough to know there's something else to the story. Even knowing that, she doesn't pry.

"You took her in," Laurel says, surprised by the conclusion. Sara never did let people in easily, and she hasn't quite been as willing to trust since the whole island ordeal—Oliver Queen clearly was not the only person to be changed by the castaway experience.

To her surprise, Sara shakes her head. "Not exactly," she admits, cryptic as always. "Sin and I, we... we look out for each other. We have since the moment I met her. I made a promise, Laurel, and I'm going to keep it." The determination in her voice is a rarity; Sara was never the focused, driven sister. Sara raises an eyebrow, continuing finally, "Believe it or not, she's a lot smarter than me and you, and she's almost _fearless_, Laurel." The admiration is heavy in her voice, but it changes as she shrugs. "Someone has to look out for her—might as well be me."

Laurel thinks it through slowly. It's obvious that Sin—whoever she is—is incredibly important to Sara. She isn't just bringing a friend over; she's offering Laurel an olive branch, trying to bring her into all the things she's missed in the past six years. This is Sara opening up ever so slightly, and Laurel would be a fool _not_ to take the opportunity.

The smile is genuine this time as she responds, "Any friend of yours is a friend of mine." She's surprised that she means it, and is rewarded by a very genuine smile on Sara's face.

After all, that's what it means to be family.


	25. Fear

**Title: Fear**  
** Prompt #1 - "I'd rather die."**  
** Episode Tag: (probably AU version) Season 2 finale**  
** Word Count: 478**  
** Summary: Fear has an uncanny way of making itself known.**

**Notes:** This is a re-post, but it's really not the same story now that it was a month ago—especially with the direction the show is going now. Sorry about the delay in update; if you don't already follow some of my other stories, then it's because real-life has recently grabbed me by the horns and forced me back into the "important" things. :P Oh, well.

I had planned to have this up earlier today, but I didn't plan on having a migraine today. I actually woke up, like, five minutes before Arrow came on, and then migraine attacked again. I know I have some reviews to answer—so don't give up on me—but I thought I'd post this while I actually felt like posting it. Reviews are welcomed—and answered!—but thanks for reading anyway. :)

* * *

They lead her into the room in shackles—honest to God shackles, like from a pirate movie. She knows she should be scared, and she's tried to be. But mostly, she just finds it amusing how wrong the situation is: _she's_ the one in shackles, when the men around her are the criminals.

Her captor—and often tormentor—is standing in the office in a building she doesn't recognize, just in front of the desk. He's tall and muscular, with a posture that screams some sort of military training. She supposes he means to be intimidating, with his muscles on display and his cold gaze settling upon her, but it just doesn't work. It's all because of the eyepatch, really; it serves to remind her that, though he might be stronger and faster, he's still human and he can still be injured.

It's laughable how he tries to intimidate her, really, since she knows who he is; she doesn't know much about him, but certainly more than he'd like her to know. Not that he knows that yet, of course—she's stayed quiet thus far.

"Miss Smoak," he says in that Australian accent, "you will tell me all you know of your green-clad friend's operations." He's demanded this day in and day out, all to no avail. He should know better by now; no matter how angry he gets, what he chooses to do to her, she knows that she won't tell Slade Wilson a damn thing.

She repeats the mantra in her head that she's come to depend upon. This time, it leaves her mouth in a clear, unafraid, "I'd rather die." _Death first_, she promises Oliver in her head—that promise she's been making to him for a very long time. She's always put his safety above her own, and this is no exception. She came to terms long ago that she would gladly die for him—among worse things.

He doesn't like that, but she doesn't care. He seems to ponder that idea for a moment before saying finally, "Well, that's always an option." It's meant to be threatening, but she's been threatened by men worse than him.

She managed to convey that idea by replying coolly, "You should be careful. The last man who threatened me ended up with three arrows in his chest—after he fell thirty stories."

He scoffs with confidence that, in Felicity's opinion, is completely unfounded. "I can almost guarantee he wouldn't compare with _me_," he retorts, arrogant in a way that she finds not only irritating, but false.

She smiles at him sweetly in response, thrilled to see the confusion and that _tiny_ tendril of fear flicker across his face. "Perhaps not," she agrees. "He didn't have _Mirakuru_ running through his veins. But Oliver has already put an arrow through your eye, Slade Wilson, and something tells me he won't be aiming so high this time."


End file.
